1 


THE     ACCOMPLICE 


BY 


FREDERICK    TREVOR    HILL 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  CASE  AND  EXCEPTIONS  " 
"  THE  MINORITY  "  "  THE   WEB  "  ETC. 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

NEW   YORK    AND    LONDON 
1905 


Copyright,  1903,  by  HAKPEK  &  BROTHERS. 


Published  May,  1905. 


THIS  TALE  IS  DEDICATED  TO 

LUCY 

WITH  AFFECTIONATE   REMEMBRANCE  OF  THE 

TALES    SHE    READ    TO    ONE    OF    HER 

BOYS   IN    NURSERY    DAYS 


213S241 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 


MOST  Americans  are  said  to  be  ambitious  for 
office,  but  I,  for  one,  have  never  felt  the  least 
inclination  for  either  public  or  private  preferment. 
The  only  official  role  I  ever  filled  was  the  foremanship 
of  the  jury  in  the  Emory  murder  case,  and  I  pray  I 
may  never  again  be  forced  to  serve  in  a  similar 
capacity.  One  such  doubtful  honor  is,  in  my  opinion, 
quite  sufficient  for  a  lifetime,  although  I  am  free  to 
admit  it  constitutes  my  best  if  not  my  sole  claim  to 
fame.  If  I  am  remembered  at  all  by  the  next  genera- 
tion it  will  not  be  as  the  author  of  a  commentary 
upon  the  Persian  poets  which  other  and  better  works 
will  supplant.  Even  my  contributions  to  the  en- 
cyclopaedias will  not  save  me  from  oblivion,  for  the 
scholarship  of  to-day  will  be  obsolete  to-morrow,  and 
I  may  soon  be  deposed  by  some  more  modern  au- 
thority better  entitled  to  the  distinguishing  letters 
after  his  name.  But  I  venture  to  predict  that  my  ex- 
periences as  a  jury-foreman  will  never  be  duplicated, 
and  that  the  trial  of  the  Emory  case  will  forever 

i 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

remain  unique  among  the  annals  of  criminal  law. 
But  even  the  reflected  glory  of  a  cause  celebre  would 
not  suffice  to  immortalize  me,  I  fear,  and  it  is  with  no 
such  vain  hope  that  I  attempt  to  play  historian.  I 
recognize  the  vast  distinction  between  the  office  and 
the  man,  and  I  do  not  yet  contemplate  committing 
autobiography — the  suicide  of  literary  men.  But 
since  I  had  unequalled  opportunities  for  observing 
the  human  forces  which  met  and  struggled  over  what 
I  take  to  be  the  most  memorable  trial  of  the  age,  and 
since  the  inside  history  of  the  case  is  known  to  me 
alone,  I  have  concluded  that  my  experiences  are 
necessary  to  complete  the  record. 

So  much  by  way  of  prelude,  and  more  than  enough 
for  pages  which  must  justify  themselves. 

The  office  of  foreman  in  the  People  vs.  Emory 
certainly  sought  the  man.  But  though  it  sought  him 
diligently  and  vigorously,  two  entire  panels  were 
exhausted  before  it  came  to  me  as  the  reward  of 
ignorance  and  innocence.  Had  I  known  what  was 
in  store  for  me  I  should  certainly  have  read  the  news- 
papers and  disqualified  myself,  as  others  did,  by  assert- 
ing an  unalterable  opinion  concerning  the  guilt  or 
innocence  of  the  accused.  .  Unfortunately,  however, 
I  was  the  first  victim  selected  from  the  third  panel; 
I  had  not  been  present  when  the  other  candidates 
were  examined,  and  I  had  never  heard  of  the  Shaw 
murder  before  I  entered  the  court-room. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  prosecutor's  glance  of  in- 
credulity as  I  made  this  confession. .  He  could  not 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

believe  his  ears,  I  suppose,  for  he  repeated  his  ques- 
tion as  though  I  had  not  already  answered  it.  I 
resented  this  at  the  time,  but  to-day  it  seems  quite 
natural  and  excusable.  It  certainly  was  astonishing 
that  any  one  could  remain  ignorant  of  a  tragedy 
which  was  being  discussed  from  one  end  of  the  State 
to  the  other;  but  I  had  never  been  much  of  a  news- 
paper reader,  and  at  the  particular  period  in  question 
I  was  absorbed  in  literary  work  to  the  exclusion  of 
everything  else.  Doubtless  the  news  had  been  re- 
ceived in  our  distant  and  sparsely  settled  part  of  the 
county  with  as  much  interest  as  elsewhere,  but  no 
echo  of  it  had  penetrated  my  study,  and  even  when 
I  was  summoned  to  the  court-house  I  did  not  know 
exactly  why  my  presence  was  required. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  us  that  you  have  never  even 
heard  of  the  death  of  Mr.  Gregory  Shaw?" 

This  time  it  was  the  counsel  for  the  defence  who 
put  the  question,  and  the  note  of  insinuation  in  his 
voice  aroused  my  indignation. 

"I  mean  to  tell  you  I  have  never  heard  of  Mr. 
Gregory  Shaw's  existence — much  less  of  his  death," 
I  retorted,  sharply. 

"Your  writing  leaves  you  no  time  for  general  read- 
ing, eh,  Mr.  Lambert?" 

"If  you  call  the  police  news  of  the  newspapers 
'general  reading,'  you  are  right,  sir,"  I  snapped. 

"I  call  it  fiction,"  he  responded,  with  a  glance  at 
the  prosecutor. 

"It's  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  Brother  Barstow 
3 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

'call'  anything,"  retorted  that  gentleman,  ap- 
parently addressing  this  crowded  room.  "He  gen- 
erally bluffs  to  the  bitter  end!" 

A  ripple  of  laughter  ran  through  the  audience, 
but  it  was  the  prosecutor's  chuckle  rather  than  his 
words  which  set  me  laughing  with  the  rest.  I  was 
in  no  mood  for  mirth — my  dignity  had  been  ruffled, 
and  I  felt  myself  aggrieved,  but  the  sound  of 
Gilbert's  spontaneous  and  infectious  merriment  in- 
stantly restored  me  to  good-humor,  and  I  began  to 
study  the  man  with  keen  interest,  as  he  lolled  at  his 
ease  inside  the  counsel's  rail. 

He  was  a  tall,  heavily  built  fellow  about  five-and- 
thirty  years  of  age,  his  eyes  clear  and  kindly,  his  lips 
firm,  but  formed  for  smiling,  his  nose  large — humor- 
ously large — and  his  round,  clean-shaven,  dimpled 
chin  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  boyish  expression 
of  his  youthful,  satisfying  face.  He  was  not  stout, 
yet  his  large  frame  and  his  loose-fitting,  country fied 
clothes  gave  him  that  appearance,  and  his  slow,  easy- 
going manner  reinforced  the  impression.  To  me  he 
typified  the  successful  rural  politician — the  village 
hail-fellow-well-met  of  the  happy-go-lucky  sort. 
But  as  a  prosecuting  official  he  seemed  out  of  place. 
There  was  nothing  formal  or  dignified  in  his  bearing. 
Indeed,  I  could  scarcely  take  him  seriously,  for  my 
conception  of  a  prosecuting  officer  was  a  severe  and 
judicial  Procureur  du  Roi,  or  a  wigged  and  gowned 
Queen's  Counsel.  But  right  here  I  may  as  well 
admit  that  my  ideas  were  based  on  reading,  for  until 

4 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

I  responded  to  the  sheriff's  summons  I  had  never  set 
foot  inside  a  court  of  law.  I  did  not  volunteer  this 
information  at  the  time  because  I  felt  sure  the  next 
question  would  disclose  it,  but  neither  Gilbert  nor 
Barstow  pressed  their  inquiries  beyond  the  initial 
fact  of  my  ignorance  of  the  case  at  bar,  and  before  I 
knew  exactly  what  had  happened  I  had  been  accepted 
by  both  sides  and  become  foreman  of  the  prospective 
jury  by  virtue  of  being  the  first  selected. 

During  the  rest  of  the  court  day  I  had  ample  op- 
portunity to  study  Deake  Gilbert,  and  the  more  I 
saw  of  the  man  the  more  difficult  it  became  to  recon- 
cile him  with  a  prosecution  for  murder.  The  majesty 
of  the  law  seemed  mocked  in  his  genially  comfortable 
person,  and  yet  there  was  nothing  unbecoming  in 
anything  he  said  or  did.  I  think  it  was  his  easy  ac- 
ceptance of  a  life-and-death  responsibility  which 
shocked  me  during  the  early  days  of  the  trial.  I  know 
it  was  his  firm  composure  which  encouraged  and  sus- 
tained me  at  the  end. 

A  score  of  talesmen  were  examined  and  excused 
before  I  had  a  companion  in  the  box,  for  jurors  who 
had  formed  no  opinion  on  the  Emory  case  were  few 
and  far  between;  but  after  Theodore  Bayne  took  his 
place  beside  me  the  remaining  seats  were  soon  occu- 
pied. This  was  not  accomplished,  however,  until 
Ferris  Barstow,  the  counsel  for  the  defence,  had  ex- 
hausted his  peremptory  challenges,  and  was  forced  to 
accept  such  candidates  as  the  Court  thought  compe- 
tent, and  it  was  afternoon  before  the  twelfth  juror 

5 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

was  secured  and  we  were  requested  to  rise  in  a  body 
and  take  the  oath  of  office.  As  we  stood  with  our 
right  hands  lifted,  a  deep  hush  settled  over  the  court- 
room, and  I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  experienced  a 
more  thrilling  moment.  Instinctively  I  glanced  over 
the  silent  audience  which  crowded  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  little  court-room,  and  at  the  same  mo- 
ment I  saw  Barstow  whisper  to  a  young  woman  seated 
beside  him.  Instantly  she  rose — a  lonely  figure  sil- 
houetted against  a  background  of  white  faces — and 
stood  watching  us  intently.  Then,  for  the  first  time, 
I  think,  I  fully  realized  the  awful  power  with  which 
we  were  intrusted,  and  that  on  our  nod  a  woman's 
life  depended. 


II 

WE  had  no  sooner  resumed  our  seats  than  Ferris 
Barstow  rose  and  began  to  address  the  Court. 
Much  of  what  he  said  was  unintelligible  to  a  layman, 
but  I  gathered,  in  a  general  way,  that  he  was  de- 
manding the  discharge  of  his  client  upon  various 
technical  grounds.  He  presented  his  points  with 
the  same  nervous  aggression  which  had  affected  me 
unfavorably  from  the  start,  but  coarse,  ill-mannered, 
and  pugnacious  as  he  was,  he  impressed  me  as  being 
terribly  in  earnest.  Certainly  there  was  strength  and 
virility  in  his  every  movement,  and  his  broad  shoul- 
ders imparted  a  comforting  sense  of  security,  even 
though  one  knew  the  coming  conflict  would  not  call 
for  force.  His  massive  head  and  piercingly  bright 
eyes,  however,  indicated  mental  qualities  of  a  high 
order,  and  his  thick,  muscular  neck  and  heavy,  under- 
shot jaw  guaranteed  an  untiring  insistence  on  all  his 
client's  rights.  Obviously  the  man  was  without  per- 
sonal vanity,  for  his  red  beard  and  mustache,  which 
might  have  humanized  his  ugly  features,  were  close- 
cropped,  giving  him  a  hairy  and  unnecessarily  brutal 
appearance.  Had  Deake  Gilbert  and  he  changed 
places  each  would  have  more  nearly  conformed  to 

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THE    ACCOMPLICE 

my  preconceived  notions  of  professional  types.  The 
one  had  all  the  cold  solemnity,  the  intimidating 
menace,  the  unsympathetic  savagery  of  a  prosecut- 
ing official  as  I  had  imagined  him,  while  the  other, 
if  not  the  ideal  advocate,  was  at  least  distinctly 
human  and  companionable. 

As  I  studied  the  two  men,  however,  I  felt  thankful 
they  could  not  change  places,  for  I  was  convinced 
that  the  prisoner  would  have  a  better  chance  with 
Gilbert  against  her  than  with  Barstow  in  the  prose- 
cutor's role,  and  I  was  already  strongly  prejudiced 
in  favor  of  the  accused.  Indeed,  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  associate  the  idea  of  murder  with  the  deli- 
cate, refined  little  woman  who  sat  quietly  watching 
the  jury  without  a  sign  of  fear.  She  was  not  beauti- 
ful— not  even  handsome — decidedly  not  pretty.  But 
the  calm  dignity  of  her  bearing,  the  thoughtful  ex- 
pression of  her  dark  eyes — the  simple  serenity  of  her 
whole  being  gave  her  a  grace  and  charm  far  more 
satisfying  than  mere  beauty.  The  time  was  not 
distant  when  I  was  to  question  the  meaning  of  her 
placidity — to  doubt  its  naturalness — to  suspect  more 
than  a  masked  expression  in  her  face.  But  even 
with  her  counsel  standing  before  me  and  addressing 
the  Court  I  could  not  at  first  bring  myself  to  believe 
she  was  on  trial  for  her  life,  and  when  this  fact  was 
forced  upon  me  I  took  refuge  in  the  possibility  of  her 
being  the  victim  of  some  terrible  misunderstanding 
or  blunder  which  would  be  discovered  and  rectified 
before  it  was  too  late.  Finally  I  persuaded  myself 

8 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

that  Barstow's  initial  move  would  serve  to  procure 
his  client's  immediate  discharge  and  end  the  ugly 
nightmare  threatening  my  peace  of  mind. 

"May  it  please  the  Court:  Gentlemen  of  the 
Jury." 

The  sound  of  Gilbert's  voice  startled  me  to  the 
reality  of  my  surroundings,  which  I  must  have  lost 
in  my  study  of  the  defendant's  face.  Then  with  a 
sinking  heart  I  realized  that  Barstow's  preliminary 
plea  had  failed  and  that  the  actual  trial  was  about 
to  open. 

I  shall  never  forget  my  sensations  at  this  crisis, 
but  I  was  to  experience  many  moments  far  more 
distressing  before  I  was  much  older. 


Ill 

THE  prosecutor  leaned  against  the  back  of  his 
chair  and  silently  studied  the  jury  for  some 
moments  after  his  opening  words,  and,  although  I  was 
not  the  only  person  who  shifted  nervously  in  his  seat 
during  the  solemn  pause,  I  felt  that  I  alone  disturbed 
the  quiet  of  the  Court. 

"  In  following  this  case,  gentlemen,"  he  began  again, 
speaking  slowly  and  impressively,  "I  think  it  will  aid 
you,  and  I  know  it  will  help  me,  if  you  will  strive  to 
remember  who  and  what  I  represent.  I  am  the  pub- 
lic prosecutor  of  this  county — not  a  lawyer  with  a  case 
to  be  won  or  lost.  It  is  my  province  to  seek  out  the 
facts  surrounding  the  commission  of  any  crime  and 
to  present  them  to  a  body  of  men  known  as  the  Grand 
Jury,  and  to  receive  from  it  instruction  as  to  what 
person  or  persons  should  be  tried  for  the  offence. 
Now  murder  has  been  done  in  our  community — the 
surrounding  circumstances  have  been  laid  before  the 
Grand  Jury  and  it  has  ordered  me  to  place  upon  trial 
the  prisoner  at  the  bar.  But  although  I  am  firmly 
convinced  that  this  indictment  was  justified,  and 
that  the  guilty  party  is  now  before  the  Court,  I 
want  you  to  understand  at  the  outset  that  you  are 

10 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

the  sole  judges  of  the  facts,  and  that  I  am  here  in 
the  public  interest — in  your  interest — in  the  interest 
of  all  law-abiding  citizens,  to  present  those  facts  in 
an  orderly  manner,  and  as  fairly  and  fully  as  the 
ends  of  justice  demand.  In  other  words,  I  am  for 
no  one  but  the  public,  and  against  no  one  but  the 
criminal,  and  you  are  to  decide  the  guilt  or  innocence 
of  the  accused. 

"Early  in  the  morning  of  November  3,  1892,  one 
Gregory  Shaw,  a  well-known  resident  of  the  village 
of  Pollicet,  in  this  county,  was  found  dead  in  the 
private  study  of  his  dwelling.  The  body  was  dis- 
covered by  a  servant  named  Field,  who  detected  the 
odor  of  gas  escaping  from  her  employer's  study,  and, 
finding  the  door  locked,  summoned  other  members 
of  the  household  to  her  assistance  and  forced  an  en- 
trance to  the  room.  Mr.  Shaw  was  found  lying  face 
downward  on  the  floor  near  his  desk,  and,  as  all  the 
gas-jets  were  turned  on  and  a  deadly  atmosphere 
filled  the  room,  there  was  little  question  at  the  mo- 
ment as  to  the  cause  of  his  demise.  A  hasty  exam- 
ination of  the  premises  disclosed  a  heavy  rug  stuffed 
up  the  fireplace  chimney,  wet  blotting-paper  in  the 
key-hole,  and  damp  newspapers  in  the  crevices  of 
every  door  and  window.  In  fact,  there  were  all  the 
indications  of  a  deliberately  planned  suicide,  and  the 
Coroner,  convinced  that  Mr.  Shaw  had  taken  his  own 
life,  gave  permission  for  the  removal  of  the  body 
without  holding  an  autopsy.  Had  it  not  been  for 
the  presence  of  Dr.  Walter  MacLean,  a  friend  and 

a  II 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

neighbor  of  the  deceased,  it  is  highly  probable  that 
no  investigation  worthy  the  name  would  ever  have 
been  held,  and  the  most  singular  crime  which  has  ever 
come  under  my  official  notice  would  thus  have  es- 
caped detection.  But  Dr.  MacLean  examined  Mr. 
Shaw's  body  immediately  after  it  was  moved,  and 
at  once  discovered  that  his  friend  had  been  stabbed 
through  the  right  eye  by  a  slender  weapon  which  had 
penetrated  the  brain  in  such  a  manner  as  to  cause  in- 
stant death  without  visible  effusion  of  blood. 

"The  police  authorities  were  immediately  notified, 
and  a  minute  inquiry  was  begun  into  all  the  circum- 
stances surrounding  this  mysterious  tragedy.  In  the 
first  place,  it  was  demonstrated  that  the  evidences 
of  suicide  might  easily  have  been  concocted  by  the 
murderer,  who  might  have  made  his  escape  by  the 
window,  bolting  it  from  the  outside  by  removing  one 
of  the  upper  panes  of  glass  and  replacing  it  after  his 
work  was  accomplished.  Acting  on  this  theory,  the 
authorities  began  their  investigations,  which  were 
attended  by  the  best  possible  results.  The  window 
of  Mr.  Shaw's  study  opened  upon  the  sloping  roof  of 
a  veranda,  and  upon  this  was  found  a  small  pool  of 
candle-grease,  and  a  single  drop  of  the  same  substance 
was  detected  on  one  of  the  upper  window-panes. 
Careful  work  then  revealed  that  the  old,  hardened 
putty  of  this  pane  had  been  removed  and  replaced 
by  sticking  it  together  with  library  paste.  All  this 
showed  the  same  cool  deliberation  and  forethought 
which  had  characterized  the  suicide  ruse. 

12 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"But,  gentlemen,  most  criminals,  even  the  coolest 
and  cleverest,  make  at  least  one  mistake,  and  this 
particular  criminal  made  no  less  than  two. 

"The  first  error  consisted  in  leaving  the  drippings 
of  candle-grease  on  the  veranda  roof,  and  the  second 
was  in  kneeling  on  those  drippings  before  they  were 
quite  dry.  As  though  it  had  been  a  hand  gripping 
the  skirt  of  the  criminal,  that  wax  held  in  its  clutch 
half  a  dozen  threads  of  a  hairy  cloth,  blue  in  color, 
and  of  a  texture  known  to  the  clothing  trade  as  dress 
goods.  When  you  have  found  the  wearer  of  the  cloth 
from  which  those  threads  were  torn,  gentlemen,  you 
will  have  found  the  murderer  of  Mr.  Gregory  Shaw." 

Gilbert  paused,  and  every  man  in  the  jury-box 
stole  a  glance  at  the  prisoner,  only  to  find  his  vision 
obstructed  by  Barstow's  broad  shoulders  as  the  law- 
yer leaned  towards  his  client  in  whispered  consulta- 
tion. 

"Having  demonstrated  that  some  one  had  tam- 
pered with  the  window-pane,"  Gilbert  continued, 
slowly,  "the  police  bent  all  their  efforts  upon  discov- 
ering how  this  person  had  effected  an  escape.  The  ve- 
randa roof  was  not  far  above  the  ground,  but  there 
was  no  sign  of  any  one  having  jumped  or  climbed 
from  it,  nor  were  there  any  footprints  in  the  flower- 
beds, which  were  soft  from  recent  rains.  Plainly, 
then,  the  person  who  had  turned  glazier  at  Mr.  Shaw's 
window  had  not  escaped  by  way  of  the  veranda  roof. 
It  was  obvious,  also,  that  no  exit  could  have  been 
effected  through  the  study  door,  which  was  bolted 

13 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

from  the  inside,  and  it  was  physically  impossible  for 
any  one  to  reach  the  roof  except  with  the  aid  of  a 
ladder,  as  you  will  presently  see  for  yourselves.  In 
fact,  there  was  only  one  feasible  avenue  of  escape, 
and  that  was  another  window  next  to  Mr.  Shaw's 
study,  which  also  opened  on  the  veranda  roof  and 
led  into  a  bedroom  situated  at  the  head  of  the  main 
stairway.  That  bedroom  was  occupied  by  Miss 
Alice  Emory,  Mr.  Shaw's  private  secretary  and  con- 
fidential clerk.  In  fact,  gentlemen,  every  window  of 
this  mystery  into  which  you  peer,  every  door  you 
force,  every  curtain  you  tear  aside  will  disclose  Alice 
Emory,  the  prisoner  at  the  bar." 

Again  the  prosecutor  paused,  and  the  relaxing 
rustle  and  stir  indicated  the,  nervous  tension  of  the 
audience. 

"Very  little  was  known  to  the  outside  world  about 
Mr.  Gregory  Shaw  prior  to  his  death,"  Gilbert  went 
on.  "Beyond  the  fact  that  he  was  a  bachelor  about 
forty-five  years  of  age,  active  in  mind  and  body,  and 
unusually  successful  in  business,  having  extensive 
interests  in  New  York  and  other  large  cities,  his  neigh- 
bors in  the  country  knew  practically  nothing.  His 
farm  at  Pollicet  was  apparently  a  fad,  conducted  upon 
business  principles.  The  household  consisted  of  three 
women  servants  (including  the  waitress,  Betty  Field), 
the  housekeeper,  Miss  Madeleine  Mapes — and  I  ask 
you  to  remember  her  name,  for  you  will  hear  of  her 
again — and  the  private  secretary,  Alice  Emory.  Be- 
sides these  there  were  in  the  farm  buildings  and 

14 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

stables,  at  some  distance  from  the  house,  five  men  and 
two  women.  With  these  meagre  facts  to  guide  them, 
the  police  started  upon  their  investigations,  and 
little  by  little  unearthed  a  state  of  affairs  which  was 
undreamed  of  by  the  dead  man's  neighbors,  and  a 
shock  to  the  few  who  claimed  to  be  among  his  closest 
friends. 

"  In  the  first  place,  a  will  found  in  Mr.  Shaw's  desk 
indicated  that  he  was  not  a  bachelor,  as  every  one 
had  supposed.  This  instrument  had  apparently  been 
executed  a  short  time  prior  to  his  death,  and  by  it  he 
bequeathed  his  entire  estate  to  his  wife  Alice.  Up 
to  date,  however,  no  record  of  Mr.  Shaw's  mar- 
riage has  been  obtained,  and  no  person  of  the  name 
'Alice'  has  yet  appeared  to  claim  possession  of  his 
estate." 

The  calm  tone  in  which  this  statement  was  uttered 
did  not  lessen  its  significance,  but  the  speaker  paused 
and  silently  studied  the  jurors'  faces  for  some  mo- 
ments before  he  again  proceeded. 

"But,  gentlemen,"  he  resumed,  at  last,  "not  only 
was  Mr.  Shaw's  wife  missing,  but  his  supposedly  large 
fortune  had  likewise  disappeared.  An  examination 
of  his  business  affairs  revealed  the  astounding  fact 
that,  although  his  credit  was  unquestioned  and  his 
transactions  apparently  sound,  all  his  discoverable 
assets,  including  his  Pollicet  farm,  would  no  more 
than  suffice  to  discharge  his  very  moderate  liabilities. 
To  say  that  this  revelation  amazed  his  business  ac- 
quaintances is  to  state  the  matter  very  mildly.  They 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

were  fairly  incredulous.  Almost  every  one  in  touch 
with  his  affairs  believed  him  a  millionaire  at  the  very 
least,  and  his  manner  of  living  certainly  indicated 
wide  resources  and  a  handsome  income.  There  was 
only  one  person  to  whom  the  news  did  not  come  in 
the  nature  of  a  shock,  and  that  was  his  secretary, 
Miss  Alice  Emory.  She  received  the  news  of  his 
finances  as  calmly  as — well,  as  calmly  as  she  had  re- 
ceived the  tidings  of  his  death,  and  nothing  could 
exceed  her  self-control  at  the  moment  of  that  an- 
nouncement. Another  discovery  in  this  case  was 
calculated  to  surprise  her,  however,  but  whether  it 
did  or  not  no  one  but  she  and  her  lawyer  knows,  be- 
cause she  has,  under  the  advice  of  counsel,  declined 
to  answer  questions  which  might  tend  to  incriminate 
her.  In  a  word,  gentlemen,  it  was  speedily  demon- 
strated that  the  will  in  favor  of  the  unknown  'Alice* 
was  a  clumsy  piece  of  forgery." 

Perhaps  I  was  the  only  person  in  the  room  to 
whom  this  statement  was  an  utter  surprise,  but  I  saw 
more  than  one  frightened  face  in  the  audience  as 
Gilbert  paused. 

"At  this  point,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he  pro- 
ceeded, "there  were  further  investigations  to  discover 
what  had  become  of  Mr.  Shaw's  reputed  fortune,  and 
when  the  search  was  about  to  be  abandoned  certain 
clews  led  to  the  discovery  of  nearly  a  million  dollars 
in  first-class  railroad  and  other  bonds  deposited  with 
a  trust  company  in  Venezuela.  These  securities  the 
police  believe  to  be  the  property  of  the  late  Mr. 

16 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

Gregory  Shaw,  and  the  basis  for  this  belief  is  the  fact 
that  the  safe-deposit  vault  where  they  were  secreted 
was  held  in  the  name  of  Alice  Emory,  his  private  sec- 
retary and  confidante. 

"But,  strange  as  these  facts  are,  gentlemen,"  con- 
tinued the  prosecutor,  in  even  tones,  "they  are  not 
inexplicable.  To  reach  the  explanation,  however,  I 
must  tax  your  credulity  still  further.  I  dislike  to 
speak  ill  of  the  dead,  but  I  am  compelled  to  state  that 
Mr.  Gregory  Shaw  had  not  always  been  the  successful 
and  respected  business  man  and  estimable  neighbor 
Pollicet  had  known  and  honored.  He  had  once  been 
without  money,  but  not  without  price.  The  crime 
which  we  are  now  investigating  has  brought  to  light 
another  crime  in  which  the  foundation  of  his  fortune 
was  laid,  and  which,  though  undetected  for  many 
years,  still  shadowed  his  whole  career,  and  finally  re- 
sulted in  his  tragic  death.  It  is  not  necessary  at  the 
present  moment  for  us  to  go  into  the  details  of  his 
wrong-doing,  which  the  testimony  will  fully  disclose. 
Suffice  it  to  state  that  his  crime  was  known  to  at 
least  one  other  person  besides  the  perpetrator,  and 
that  person  is  the  defendant  in  this  case. 

"Now,  gentlemen,  this  is  the  crux  of  the  whole 
matter,  for  it  is  the  theory  of  the  prosecution — and 
I  shall  not  claim  it  to  be  more  than  a  theory  until  I 
substantiate  it  by  proof — the  theory  of  the  prosecu- 
tion, I  say,  is  that  Alice  Emory  desired  to  become 
Mrs.  Gregory  Shaw — that  she  threatened  her  em- 
ployer with  exposure  unless  he  made  her  his  wife,  and 

17 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

threatened  so  effectively  that  he  turned  all  his  prop- 
erty into  negotiable  securities  and  prepared  for  im- 
mediate flight — that  such  was  the  pressure  brought 
upon  him  that  he  contemplated  suicide,  and,  thinking 
he  might  take  his  life,  the  secretary  forged  a  will  in 
her  own  favor,  intending  to  pose  as  his  widow,  and 
she  murdered  him  when  he  discovered  this  document 
and  threatened  exposure  for  exposure.  But  you  will 
naturally  ask  why  Gregory  Shaw  did  not  accede  to 
the  woman's  demands  and  marry  her.  Had  he  done 
so  his  secret  would  have  been  safe,  for  the  law  does 
not  look  favorably  upon  a  wife  who  volunteers  testi- 
mony against  her  husband.  There  must  have  been 
some  strong  reason  for  his  resistance,  and  I  think  I 
can  show  you  what  it  was  when  we  come  to  inves- 
tigate the  life  and  letters  of  the  prisoner  at  the  bar. 

"But,  your  Honor" — here  Gilbert  turned  on  his 
heel  and  addressed  Judge  Dudley — "before  we  pro- 
ceed further  in  this  case  I  desire  the  jurors  to  view 
the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  and  see  for  themselves  the 
possibilities  of  entrance  and  escape  and  familiarize 
themselves  with  other  essential  details  which  are 
difficult  to  explain.  I  therefore  move  for  an  imme- 
diate inspection  of  the  Shaw  residence  under  such 
guidance  and  instruction  as  the  Court  may  deem 
proper." 

Ferris  Barstow  had  risen  when  the  prosecutor 
turned  to  the  Bench,  and  the  moment  he  caught  the 
Judge's  eye  his  harsh  voice  boomed  out  in  protest. 

"I  object  to  any  such  inspection!"  he  began,  with 
18 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

his  customary  aggression.  "The  sole  object  of  this 
proposed  junketing-trip  is  to  give  spectacular  effect 
to  a  trial  already  sufficiently  advertised.  It  can 
serve  no  good  or  useful  purpose.  We  neither  ask 
nor  expect  quarter  because  this  defendant  is  a  woman , 
but  I  submit  that  no  prisoner  on  trial  for  life  should  be 
subjected  to  unnecessary  strain.  Your  Honor  knows 
what  these  inspections  involve.  In  nine  cases  out  of 
ten  they  are  not  inspections  of  the  premises,  but  in- 
spections of  the  prisoner  —  tests  to  see  whether  or 
not  he  will  blanch  at  the  sight  of  the  fatal  spot. 
Such  manoeuvres  belong  to  the  days  when  prisoners 
were  forced  to  touch  the  corpse  and  were  judged 
guilty  if  its  wounds  bled.  I  protest  against  such  bar- 
baric tactics,  and  I  trust  this  Court  will  not  counte- 
nance them  without  grave  and  cogent  reasons." 

Barstow  glanced  defiantly  at  the  prosecutor  as  he 
paused,  but  Gilbert  did  not  respond  to  the  challenge. 
Indeed,  he  seemed  unconscious  of  his  opponent  as  he 
stood  quietly  awaiting  the  decision  from  the  Bench. 

"Have  you  no  plans  or  photographs  of  the  prem- 
ises, Mr.  Gilbert?"  inquired  the  Judge,  after  a  pause. 

"We  have  both,  your  Honor;  but  much  time  and 
trouble  will  be  saved  if  the  jurors  can  see  the  house 
itself.  Moreover,  the  accuracy  of  our  plans  and  pho- 
tographs may  be  disputed." 

"Their  accuracy  will  be  admitted  without  ques- 
tion," interposed  Barstow.  "Sight  unseen!" 

The  Judge  glanced  inquiringly  at  the  prosecutor. 

"Does  that  satisfy  you,  Mr.  Gilbert?"  he  asked. 
19 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"It  is  good  as  far  as  it  goes,  sir,  but  it  does  not 
eliminate  the  difficulty  of  explanation,"  Gilbert  re- 
sponded. "If  my  opponent  fears  the  effect  of  the 
proposed  visit  upon  his  client's  nerves,  I  suggest 
that  he  waive  her  right  to  be  present  at  the  inspec- 
tion, and  allow  us  to  look  over  the  ground  without 
her." 

"Any  suggestion  from  the  prosecutor  that  I  waive 
my  client's  rights  speaks  for  itself,  and  is  its  own  an- 
swer!" retorted  Barstow. 

Every  note  of  the  man's  voice  was  provocative  of 
wrath,  but  Gilbert  displayed  no  resentment  at  his 
ugly  show  of  teeth. 

"  I  will  deny  your  motion  for  the  present,  Mr.  Gil- 
bert," the  Judge  decided,  after  a  pause.  "You  may 
renew  it  later  if  you  choose." 

The  prosecutor  bowed  gravely  and  was  about  to 
resume  his  address,  when  Barstow  laid  a  hand  upon 
his  arm. 

"One  moment,  if  you  please,"  he  interposed,  at 
the  same  time  turning  to  the  Court.  "Your  Honor, 
this  is  Friday,  and  it  is  now  nearly  six  o'clock.  In 
view  of  the  long  trial  before  us,  I  suggest  that  the 
jurors  be  discharged  until  Monday." 

"Does  the  prosecution  agree?"  inquired  the  Court. 

Gilbert  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"I  have  no  objection,"  he  responded,  "provided 
the  jurors  be  instructed  to  return  on  Monday  pre- 
pared to  stay  here  until  the  trial  ends." 

"  I  will  consent  that  the  jurors  be  given  their  entire 
20 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

liberty,"  interposed  Barstow  as  the  Judge  paused,  "  if 
the  prosecutor  will  agree." 

"I  would  like  to  be  equally  accommodating,"  Gil- 
bert answered,  with  a  smile,  "but  I  submit  it  is  not 
practical  for  these  gentlemen  to  come  and  go  as  they 
please.  This  trial  will  be  endless  if  we  have  to  wait 
each  morning  for  their  appearance.  They  are  from 
widely  scattered  parts  of  the  county.  Some  of  them 
are  farmers,  some  are  business  men,  and — 

"They'll  all  be  lawyers  before  this  trial  is  ended," 
interrupted  Barstow. 

"But  they'll  be  too  old  to  practise  before  that  day 
arrives  if  we  act  on  your  suggestion,"  retorted  Gilbert. 

"The  jurors  will  return  here  on  Monday  morning, 
prepared  to  stay  at  the  Melton  House  during  the  trial 
of  this  case,"  Judge  Dudley  interposed,  decisively. 
"In  the  mean  time,  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  "you 
may  retire  to  your  homes  and  make  such  preparations 
as  may  be  appropriate.  I  warn  you,  however,  not  to 
discuss  the  case  or  to  listen  to  others  discussing  it. 
Keep  yourselves  free  from  influence,  prejudice,  or 
impression,  and  form  no  opinion  favorable  or  unfa- 
vorable from  anything  you  have  heard.  In  other 
words,  dismiss  the  subject  from  your  minds  until  you 
reassemble." 


IV 

DISMISS  the  subject  from  our  minds!  I  don't 
know  what  my  associates  thought  of  the  Judge's 
admonition,  but  I  resented  it  as  nothing  less  than 
an  insult  to  my  intelligence.  Certainly  no  human 
being  with  a  mind  of  his  own  could  listen  to  the  story 
we  had  heard  and  think  no  more  about  it  until  it 
pleased  the  Court.  Even  if  it  had  come  to  me  in  the 
form  of  fiction,  I  could  not  have  dismissed  it  with- 
out at  least  a  mild  conjecture.  But  to  instruct 
twelve  men  charged  with  a  life-and-death  responsi- 
bility to  give  no  second  thought  to  the  vital,  human 
issue  they  were  facing  struck  me  as  preposterous — 
impertinently  preposterous. 

My  new  official  duties  weighed  heavily  upon  me, 
and  I  was  indignant  that  any  one  should  take  them 
less  seriously.  I  could  not  even  join  in  the  grum- 
bling of  my  fellow-jurors  at  our  prospective  deten- 
tion, for  it  seemed  petty  to  dwell  on  my  personal 
inconvenience  in  the  face  of  a  civic  duty  far  more 
important;  and,  finding  myself  out  of  all  sympathy 
with  my  associates,  I  walked  from  the  court-room 
feeling  as  though  the  whole  burden  of  this  awful 
business  rested  on  my  shoulders  alone. 

22 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

I  had  left  my  horse  and  trap  at  the  Melton  House 
stables,  and,  although  it  was  already  late,  and  I  had 
at  least  ten  miles  to  travel,  I  determined  to  start 
home  at  once,  knowing  that  my  faithful  housekeeper, 
well  used  to  my  bachelor  irregularity,  would  keep 
dinner  waiting  for  me,  no  matter  how  late  I  might 
arrive. 

But  had  I  not  already  determined  to  leave  at  the 
earliest  possible  moment,  the  conversation  at  the 
hotel  would  have  hastened  my  departure,  for  the 
Emory  case  was  being  debated  with  great  energy, 
and,  to  avoid  being  drawn  into  the  discussions,  I  was 
obliged  to  take  refuge  on  the  piazza.  But  even  there 
the  topic  pursued  me,  and  it  was  with  no  small  relief 
that  I  at  last  jumped  into  my  trap  and  set  off  at  a 
brisk  pace  on  my  homeward  journey.  But  as  I  trav- 
elled along  the  lonely  country  road  my  mind  was 
constantly  occupied  with  the  forbidden  subject,  and 
unconsciously  I  allowed  my  horse  to  settle  into  a 
jog-trot  as  I  thought  over  the  story  I  had  heard 
from  Deake  Gilbert's  lips. 

My  first  impressions  of  the  prosecutor  had  not 
survived  his  opening  speech.  He  no  longer  appealed 
to  me  as  a  flippant  or  irresponsible  trifler,  but  rather 
as  a  man  sure  of  himself  and  his  duty  and  entirely 
conscientious.  His  statement  of  facts  had  been  pre- 
sented in  a  quiet,  conversational  tone,  without  for- 
mality, but  with  unmistakable  earnestness.  During 
its  entire  delivery  his  attitude  had  been  that  of  an 
impartial  investigator  bent  upon  making  an  ac- 

23 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

curate  report.  Not  a  word  of  denunciation  had  passed 
his  lips,  and  scarcely  more  than  a  suggestion  of  ac- 
cusation, and  yet  the  defendant  seemed  irretrievably 
incriminated.  Had  he  attacked  her  and  inveighed 
against  her  crime,  I  should  have  felt  more  comfort- 
able. But  his  quiet,  colorless  relation  of  the  facts 
made  them  speak  for  themselves,  and  their  meaning 
was  unmistakable.  Even  what  he  had  left  unsaid 
was  hauntingly  suggestive.  Would  he  tell  us  at  the 
next  session  that  the  threads  which  had  been  found 
clinging  to  the  candle-grease  matched  the  cloth  of  one 
of  Alice  Emory's  skirts?  He  had  not  asserted  this, 
but  I  did  not  doubt  that  he  had  such  proof  in  his 
possession.  Again,  why  had  the  victim  refused  to 
consider  marriage  with  his  secretary — even  at  the 
risk  of  ruin  and  disgrace?  I  could  find  no  clew  to 
this  question.  But  assuming  the  gravest  of  answers, 
why  should  Shaw  place  his  ill-gotten  property  in  the 
name  of  the  woman  he  had  every  reason  to  fear  ?  If 
money  had  been  her  object,  why  had  she  not  been 
satisfied  with  the  possession  of  his  wealth?  Why 
had  she  been  tempted  to  forgery  or  murder  ?  When 
Gilbert  had  told  of  the  property  discovered  in  her 
name,  I  felt  he  had  made  a  strong  point  for  the  prose- 
cution ;  but,  as  I  pondered  over  it,  the  fact  seemed  in 
her  favor.  Perhaps  other  points  more  closely  ex- 
amined would  prove  even  more  favorable. 

Encouraged  by  this  prospect,  I  clucked  cheerily  to 
my  shambling  horse,  and  as  he  started  forward  I 
noticed  that  I  no  longer  had  the  road  to  myself,  for 

24 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

in  the  distance  another  horse  was  plainly  visible  on 
the  crest  of  a  little  hill.  In  the  gathering  dusk  I 
could  not  at  once  determine  in  what  direction  it  was 
moving,  but  on  drawing  nearer  I  discovered  that  it 
was  being  led  towards  me,  and  that  the  holder  of  the 
bridle-rein  was  a  woman.  The  animal  bore  a  man's 
saddle,  but  there  was  no  one  but  the  woman  in  sight, 
and,  fearing  there  had  been  an  accident,  I  drew  rein 
as  we  met. 

"Pardon  me,  madam,"  I  began,  raising  my  hat, 
but  paused  as  the  sound  of  laughter  reached  my 
ears. 

"I  wonder  what  makes  you  think  so?"  asked  a 
pleasant  voice. 

I  gazed  at  the  smiling  face  upturned  to  mine  and, 
puzzled  for  an  answer,  hazarded  a  question. 

"What  makes  me  think  what?"  I  queried. 

"That  I  have  arrived  at  the  dignity  of  'madam.' ' 

"I  do  not  think  you  have,  miss,"  I  answered, 
dryly. 

The  girl  laughed  good-naturedly. 

"I  stand  reproved,"  she  answered,  patting  the 
horse's  head.  "And,  incidentally,  I  grant  the  par- 
don you  began  by  asking — presumably  for  addressing 
me  at  all,"  she  added,  with  a  note  of  dignity,  as  she 
moved  on  again. 

"I  merely  stopped  to  inquire  if  I  could  be  of  any 
assistance  to  you — or  your  companion,"  I  added, 
glancing  up  and  down  the  road. 

"Or  my  companion?"  she  repeated,  wonderingly, 
25 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

and  then  broke  into  a  little  laugh.  "Oh,  Dolly  is 
all  right,"  she  continued,  playfully  shaking  the 
bridle-rein.  "It's  the  saddle-girth  which  wants  as- 
sistance. You  don't  happen  to  have  an  extra  long 
strap  in  your  wagon,  do  you?" 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  girth?"  I  inquired, 
twisting  the  reins  about  my  whip  and  jumping  to  the 
ground. 

"The  binding  of  the  buckle  has  come  unsewed," 
she  explained.  "It  hasn't  actually  broken,  but  I 
can't  make  it  safe,  and  I've  been  fussing  with  it  for 
hours.  I  could  have  carried  the  saddle  on  my  lap  if 
Dolly  would  have  let  me  mount,  but  the  wretch 
wouldn't  stand  still,  and  I've  been  waltzing  with  her 
until  I'm  fairly  dizzy.  Now,  if  you  will  give  me  a 
leg  up —  "  she  continued,  unfastening  the  girth. 

I  fairly  gasped  at  the  expression,  but  she  did  not 
notice  my  confusion. 

"I  thought — "  I  began,  and  paused,  awkwardly. 

She  turned  to  me — her  head  still  under  the  up- 
lifted saddle-flap — and  at  sight  of  my  face  laid  her 
cheek  against  the  horse's  flank  and  laughed  with 
keen  enjoyment. 

"I  see!  You  didn't  understand  the  saddle,"  she 
exclaimed.  "Divided  skirts  are  cleverly  made  now- 
adays, aren't  they?"  She  touched  her  brown  riding- 
skirt  with  her  hunting-crop  as  she  spoke.  "You're 
not  shocked,  are  you?"  she  continued. 

I  tried  to  shake  my  head  convincingly. 

"I  can't  imagine  why  any  one  should  be,"  she 
26 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

went  on,  calmly;  "but  I've  met  plenty  of  country 
people  who  wouldn't  think  of  docking  a  horse's 
tail  and  yet  are  simply  scandalized  at  the  notion  of 
a  woman's  properly  adjusting  her  weight  to  his 
back." 

"It  is  merely  a  question  of  custom,"  I  replied. 

"Of  habit,  you  mean,"  she  interrupted,  smilingly. 
"  Now,  if  you  will  lay  this  saddle  on  the  grass  for  a 
moment,"  she  continued,  "and  hand  it  to  me  after 
I  am  up — 

"If  you  will  permit  me  to  offer  you  a  seat  in  my 
trap,"  I  suggested,  "you  could  lead  Dolly  and  let 
her  carry  her  own  saddle.  It's  safe  enough  for  that." 

"I  don't  want  to  take  you  out  of  your  way,"  she 
answered,  hesitatingly. 

"Perhaps  you  won't,"  I  replied.  "Where  are  you 
going?" 

"Home,"  she  answered.  "To  Pollicet,  I  mean," 
she  added,  smilingly. 

"To  Pollicet!"  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes.     Is  there  anything  surprising  in  that?" 

"No-o,"  I  answered  slowly,  "but — " 

"I  see,"  she  interrupted.  "You  associate  Pollicet 
with  the  Shaw  murder,  and  look  upon  all  the  in- 
habitants as  implicated." 

"Not  at  all,"  I  protested,  lamely;  "but — " 

"  I  assure  you  we  know  less  about  it  than  most 
people,"  she  went  on.  "Although  we're  not  stupid 
enough  to  think  Alice  Emory  killed  the  man.  That's 
criminal  ignorance." 

3  27 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"If  you  will  accept  my  suggestion  I  will  buckle 
these  reins  together  for  a  leading-strap,"  I  inter- 
posed, somewhat  hurriedly.  "Or  if  you  will  do  it 
while  I  put  the  saddle  on  again  it  will  save  time,"  I 
continued.  "Is  Pollicet  far  from  here?" 

"Not  three  miles,"  she  answered.  "We're  on  the 
direct  road  now.  Didn't  you  know  it?" 

"No,"  I  admitted.  "I  must  have  taken  the 
wrong  turning  for  Hefryville." 

"And  came  all  the  way  here  to  rescue  a  maiden 
in  distress?  It's  fate!  Romantic  fate!  Don't  you 
think  so?" 

I  was  in  a  serious  mood,  but  the  girl's  merry, 
mocking  face  was  too  much  for  my  gravity,  and  I 
laughed  in  spite  of  myself. 

"How  old  are  you,  anyway?"  I  expostulated,  but 
with  very  little  severity  in  my  tone. 

"What  an  impolite  question!"  She  mounted  into 
the  wagon  as  she  spoke  and  held  out  her  hand  for 
the  leading-strap.  "How  old  are  you,  yourself?" 

"Thirty -six,"  I  answered,  promptly. 

"Well,  I'm  twenty-four,"  she  answered. 

"You  don't  look  it,"  I  observed,  taking  my  seat 
beside  her  and  chirping  to  the  horse. 

"I  suspect  you  mean  I  don't  act  it,"  she  asserted. 
"But  I  will  return  the  compliment  at  its  face  value. 
You  don't  look  thirty-six." 

"Thank  you,"  I  responded,  gravely. 

For  some  moments  we  drove  on  in  silence,  and, 
although  the  girl  was  looking  back  at  Dolly,  I  knew 

28 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

she  was  shaking  with  repressed  amusement.  Indeed, 
when  I  glanced  around  I  found  myself  face  to  face 
with  a  picture  of  mischievous  merriment  which 
would  have  made  a  mummy  smile. 

"Now,  suppose  we  all  give  our  right  names,  as 
my  brother  says."  She  burst  out  laughing.  "I'm 
Barbara  Frayne,  aged  eighteen,  of  '  Heathercote,' 
Pollicet." 

"And  I'm  James  Lambert,  aged  thirty  -  six,  en 
route  from  Melton  to  Hefryville,"  I  responded. 

"From  Melton  to  Hefryville?"  she  repeated,  won- 
deringly.  "I  don't  see  how  you  could  have  missed 
your  way." 

"I'm  afraid  I  wasn't  thinking  of  the  road,"  I  an- 
swered; "but  the  horse  ought  to  have  remembered  it. 
He's  been  over  it  often  enough." 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  Melton  myself  when  the 
buckle  weakened,"  Miss  Frayne  volunteered.  "  Did 
they  actually  begin  that  abominable  case  to-day?" 
she  added,  quickly. 

"You  mean  the  People  against  Emory?"  I  asked, 
without  glancing  at  my  questioner. 

"I  mean  Deake  Gilbert  against  Emory!"  she  ex- 
claimed, resentfully.  "Isn't  it  an  outrage?" 

"You  know  Miss  Emory?"  I  hazarded. 

"Know  her?  Of  course  I  know  her,  and  a  dearer, 
sweeter  woman  never  lived.  Don't  tell  me  you  think 
her  guilty!" 

"I  have  formed  no  opinion  at  all,"  I  answered, 
uneasily. 

29 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Then  you've  never  seen  her,"  the  girl  declared. 
"No  one  who  has  could  have  any  doubt  of  her  inno- 
cence— no  one  except  Deake  Gilbert,  and  he's  noth- 
ing but  a  brute,  and  I've  told  him  that  to  his  face, 
too!" 

"You  mean  the  prosecutor?"  I  inquired. 

"Prosecutor!"  she  repeated,  scornfully.  "Perse- 
cutor, I  call  him.  Goodness,  how  mad  it  makes  him!" 
she  added,  exultingly. 

"But  his  duty — "  I  began. 

"His  duty!"  she  interrupted,  scornfully.  "It's 
his  duty  to  find  out  who  did  the  murder,  not  to 
persecute  a  defenceless  woman.  Oh,  I  don't  see  how 
a  man  can  do  such  things!"  she  went  on,  indignantly. 
"Fancy  planning  and  plotting  for  months  against  an 
innocent  woman,  and  then  pleading  with  a  lot  of 
country  bumpkins  to  do  her  to  death!  Why  don't 
they  let  women  sit  on  the  jury  ?  They  don't  dare,  I 
suppose.  Oh,  it  just  makes  me  boil  to  think  of  it!" 

"  But  if  your  friend  is  innocent  she's  in  no  danger," 
I  observed. 

"Indeed  she  is!"  the  girl  asserted.  "I've  heard 
Deake  Gilbert  himself  admit  that  a  man  has  to  be  a 
sort  of  half  idiot  nowadays  before  he's  qualified  to 
sit  as  a  juror,  and  there's  no  telling  what  people  of 
that  sort  will  do." 

I  inwardly  congratulated  myself  on  the  natural 
sound  of  my  answering  laugh;  but  my  cheeks  were 
flushing  furiously,  and  I  admit  I  hit  the  horse  without 
the  slightest  provocation. 

30 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"I  tell  Deake  he  gets  so  used  to  controlling  the 
weak-minded  that  he  can't  tolerate  a  rational  differ- 
ence of  opinion  any  longer,"  she  continued,  reminis- 
cently.  "And  that  makes  him  madder  than  ever. 
Did  you  ever  see  him  lose  his  temper?"  she  added, 
suddenly. 

"No,"  I  answered,  uninterestedly. 

"You  know  him — don't  you?"  she  inquired. 

"I  can't  say  I  do,"  I  replied,  evasively. 

"Why,  I  thought  everybody  knew  him." 

"I'm  nothing  but  a  hermit,"  I  explained. 

"A  hermit?  That  sounds  deliciously  mysterious. 
Do  you  live  in  a  cave?" 

"In  'The  Hermitage,'"  I  answered. 

"What!  That  dear  little  studio  where  some 
artists  used  to  live?" 

"I  bought  it  from  an  artist.  You  have  been 
there?" 

"Yes — they  gave  a  party  there  some  time  ago. 
It's  simply  perfect  for  a  dance.  Have  you  ever 
given  one?" 

"Well— no,"  I  admitted.  "You  see,  I'm  a  bach- 
elor, and — " 

"Oh,  do  give  one!"  she  exclaimed,  enthusiastically, 
"and  invite  me." 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  enough  people,"  I  began. 

"I  have  it!"  she  interrupted,  gayly.  "We're  al- 
most at  Pollicet  now.  I'll  introduce  you  to  father 
and  mother,  and  you  can  stay  to  dinner,  and  we'll 
all  see  that  you  know  everybody  in  the  county  who's 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

worth  knowing,  and  then  you  can  have  a  party. 
Won't  it  be  fun?" 

"It  sounds  delightful,"  I  responded,  smilingly; 
"but—" 

"You'll  come — won't  you?"  she  demanded. 

"To  the  party?     Certainly." 

"No,  to  dinner,  of  course." 

I  hesitated  for  a  moment,  but  the  reference  which 
had  already  been  made  to  the  Emory  case  warned  me 
that  local  hospitality  might  be  embarrassing  for  the 
present. 

"You  are  very  kind,"  I  replied,  regretfully,  "and  I 
shall  be  glad  to  call  some  other  time — at  the  first 
possible  opportunity,  if  you  will  permit  it;  but  to- 
night I  feel  I  must  push  on  to  Hefryville,  for  I  am 
late  and  some  distance  out  of  my  way,  I  suppose." 

"Nearly  four  miles,"  she  admitted.  "I'm  sorry 
you  won't  stop;  but  I  can  tell  you  how  to  save  time 
if  you  really  must  hurry  on." 

"I'm  afraid  I  must,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  keep  on  this  road  about  half  a  mile  farther, 
and  then  take  the  first  turning  to  the  left,  and  follow 
that  until  you  come  to  a  wagon-shed  just  beyond 
the  Shaw  house — 

"  But  I  don't  know  the  Shaw  house  when  I  see  it," 
I  interrupted. 

"  Gracious!  You  are  a  hermit,  indeed.  Well,  it's  a 
red-roofed  farm-house  with  three  big  poplars  in  front 
of  it.  You  can't  possibly  miss  it,  and  at  the  wagon- 
shed  just  beyond  you'll  come  to  a  road  turning 

32 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

to  the  right.     Take  that  and  you'll  save  a  mile  or 
more." 

"Thank  you — I  understand,"  I  answered,  mechan- 
ically, although  I  had  not  followed  the  directions  be- 
yond the  Shaw  house. 

"If  you're  sure  you  can't  stop  to  dinner,  I'm  going 
to  ask  you  to  let  me  out  here,  Mr.  Lambert,"  she  con- 
tinued, as  we  drew  near  a  back  lane.  "I  can  go  di- 
rectly to  the  stables  this  way,  and  it  will  save  you 
time,  too." 

I  stopped  and,  taking  the  leading-rein  from  her 
hand,  helped  her  to  alight. 

"Thank  you  ever  so  much,  Sir  Knight,"  she  ex- 
claimed, holding  out  her  hand. 

It  may  be  no  true  indication  of  character,  but  I 
always  receive  a  strong  impression  from  the  man- 
ner in  which  a  person  shakes  hands.  I  had  never 
met  a  girl  like  Miss  Frayne  before,  but  I  felt  I 
knew  something  of  her  quality  the  moment  our 
hands  met.  Her  clasp  was  firm  and  strong,  like  a 
man's.  It  was  a  greeting  or  a  God-speed  which  no 
man  could  fail  to  reciprocate  and  no  decent  man 
would  dare  presume  upon.  It  was  friendly,  frank, 
fearless,  genuine,  hearty,  joyous.  It  was  like  her. 

"Don't  forget  you're  committed  to  that  party  at 
'The  Hermitage,'"  she  reminded  me,  as  I  stepped 
into  the  wagon. 

"Will  you  dance  the  cotillon  with  me,  mademoi- 
selle?" I  inquired,  picking  up  the  reins. 

"Merci,  monsieur,"  she  answered,  and  then,  lifting 
33 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

her  horse's  head,  touched  it  with  her  fingers  and 
waved  her  hand  towards  me. 

"Dolly  and  I  salute  you,"  she  added,  laughingly, 
as  she  moved  away. 

I  watched  her  running  lightly  up  the  lane,  the 
mare  trotting  after  her  to  the  musical  jingle  of  its 
stirrups,  and  then  I  urged  my  own  horse  forward 
on  the  road  to  the  farm-house  of  Gregory  Shaw. 


I  WILL  not  say  I  did  not  question  the  propriety 
of  my  visit  to  the  Shaw  farm,  but  I  certainly 
never  doubted  it.  I  had  every  reason  to  believe  that 
the  majority  of  the  jurors  were  more  or  less  familiar 
with  the  house  and  its  surroundings.  Indeed,  all 
the  talesmen  had  admitted  in  my  presence  that  they 
had  seen  the  place,  and  I  was  the  only  candidate  who 
had  not  even  heard  of  it.  To  my  mind  it  seemed 
not  only  proper  but  necessary  that  I  should  qualify 
myself  to  understand  the  coming  testimony  by  per- 
sonally inspecting  the  scene,  especially  since  Mr. 
Barstow's  objection  had  deprived  me  of  an  official 
opportunity.  The  fact  that  I  had  already  been  sworn 
as  a  juror  made  no  difference  in  my  opinion,  for 
there  could  be  nothing  in  the  mere  exterior  of  the 
place  to  influence  me  one  way  or  the  other,  and  I  felt 
entirely  justified  in  equipping  myself  with  the  in- 
formation which  my  associates  already  possessed. 

I  did  not  reason  this  out  at  the  time,  but  I  know 
I  felt  it  instinctively,  and,  despite  the  outcome,  and 
the  fact  that  ignorance  of  the  law  is  no  excuse,  I  still 
maintain  I  was  justified  in  doing  exactly  what  I 
planned  to  do. 

35 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

It  was  dark  by  the  time  I  reached  the  house,  but 
I  recognized  it  at  once  by  the  three  stately  poplars. 
It  was  an  unpretentious  building,  standing  well 
within  its  own  grounds,  which  were  separated  from 
the  highway  by  a  tall  box  hedge.  This  and  the  big 
poplars  obstructed  the  view  from  the  road,  and, 
although  I  leaned  far  out  of  the  buggy,  I  could  see 
nothing  of  the  veranda  of  which  Gilbert  had  spoken. 
I  therefore  stopped  the  horse  a  few  rods  farther 
down  the  road,  and,  standing  up,  looked  back,  but 
the  little  I  could  see  convinced  me  that  the  veranda 
and  the  windows  in  question  must  be  at  the  rear. 
Disappointed  with  the  poor  view  I  had  obtained, 
I  was  driving  on  again  when  I  noticed  the  wagon- 
shed  of  which  Miss  Frayne  had  spoken,  and  I  at  once 
determined  to  leave  the  horse  there  and  walk  back 
for  another  look  at  the  house.  With  this  idea  I 
drove  into  the  shed,  tied  my  horse,  and,  climbing  the 
fence  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  approached  the 
house  behind  a  fringe  of  trees  which  screened  it  from 
the  farm  buildings.  When  I  emerged  I  found  myself 
quite  close  to  the  veranda,  which  extended  across 
part  of  the  building,  with  three  windows  of  the 
second  story  opening  upon  its  roof.  Two  of  them  un- 
doubtedly opened  into  Mr.  Shaw's  private  study,  and 
the  other  into  Miss  Emory's  room,  but  which  was 
which  I  had  no  means  of  knowing.  It  was  evident 
at  a  glance  that  no  one  could  reach  the  roof  from 
the  veranda  roof  without  the  assistance  of  a  rope  or 
ladder,  for  the  upper  windows  had  neither  coping  nor 

36 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

shutters,  and  the  eaves  of  the  roof  projected  so  far  that 
any  one  scaling  the  wall  would  find  himself  cooped  up 
under  the  eaves.  The  veranda  roof  likewise  pro- 
jected far  beyond  the  supporting  columns,  and  the 
most  skilful  descent  would  require  a  drop  of  at  least 
five  feet  into  the  flower-beds  below.  All  this  merely 
corroborated  what  Gilbert  had  told  the  jury,  and  I 
was  about  to  return  to  the  road  when  I  noticed  that 
one  end  of  the  veranda  was  not  visible  from  where  I 
stood.  I  therefore  moved  out  of  the  shadow  of  the 
trees  and  stepped  towards  the  house.  I  soon  discov- 
ered that  the  part  of  the  roof  which  had  been  hidden 
from  my  view  presented  very  much  the  same  appear- 
ance as  the  front,  except  that  I  could  now  see  a  wing 
or  annex  of  the  house  with  a  door  leading  into  what 
might  be  the  kitchen.  There  was  a  window  between 
this  door  and  the  veranda,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that 
an  active  person  might  possibly  make  use  of  the 
shutters  in  descending  from  the  veranda  roof.  To 
investigate  this  more  closely  I  moved  forward,  and 
in  doing  so  stepped  on  a  piece  of  glass,  which  broke 
under  my  foot,  and  at  the  s.ame  instant  a  startled 
exclamation  sounded  almost  in  my  ear. 

Instinctively  I  flattened  myself  against  the  wall  of 
the  house,  and  as  I  did  so  the  window  beside  me 
opened  and  a  small  piece  of  glass  tinkled  to  the  ground. 

"It's  nothing  but  bits  of  this  broken  pane  drop- 
ping out,"  answered  a  woman's  voice.  "  If  you  don't 
get  your  nerves  under  better  control  you'll  do  a 
power  of  mischief  yet." 

37 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

The  speaker  drew  a  chair  to  the  window  and  sat 
down  facing  me.  I  could  not  see  her,  but  had  I 
stepped  from  the  wall  she  would  have  instantly  dis- 
covered me. 

"I  don't  want  to  do  any  mischief,"  faltered  the 
other  voice.  "All  I  want  is  to  be  left  alone." 

"Well,  you  can't  be  left  alone,"  retorted  the  first 
speaker.  "And  you  won't  be;  so  you  might  just  as 
well  make  up  your  mind  not  to  be  a  silly  fool.  There's 
nothing  to  be  afraid  of." 

"Oh,  Miss  Mapes!     Do  you  really  think  so?" 

Mapes?  Where  had  I  heard  that  name?  In- 
stantly Gilbert's  reference  to  Miss  Madeleine  Mapes 
recurred  to  my  mind.  This  was  the  housekeeper 
whose  name  he  had  asked  us  to  remember. 

"I  don't  think  it — I  know  it!" 

Miss  Mapes's  tone  was  domineering  but  reassuring, 
and  from  the  silence  which  followed  I  began  to  hope 
that  the  conversation  had  ended  when  the  nervous 
voice  startled  me  again. 

"But  if  they  ask  me  more  than  you  think?" 

"They  won't,"  Miss  Mapes  asserted.  "But  if 
they  do,  all  you  have  to  say  is  that  you  don't  know." 

"But  I  can't  tell  an  untruth." 

"Can't  you?"  sneered  the  housekeeper.  "Then 
you're  the  only  person  I  ever  met  who  couldn't." 

"But  not  under  oath,  Miss  Mapes,"  the  other 
woman  quavered.  "That's  a  crime." 

"Well,  murder's  a  worse  crime." 

"Yes,  but—" 

38 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"You'll  commit  murder,  Betty  Field,  if  you  take 
to  talking!  Nothing  less  than  murder — mark  my 
words!" 

The  housekeeper's  tone  was  fierce  and  menacing, 
and  I  could  almost  see  the  other  woman  tremble. 

"Suppose  they  should  ask  me  if  I  ever  saw  it?" 

"They  never  did  ask  you  that — did  they?" 

"No.  But  the  detective  wanted  to  know  if  I'd 
ever  seen  her  wearing  a  blue  cloth  skirt." 

"Well,  you  never  had — " 

"No,  but  I  saw  you  with  it,  and — " 

"How  do  you  know  you  did?"  Miss  Mapes  in- 
terrupted, sharply.  "You  saw  me  with  something 
in  my  hand — " 

"It  was  in  the  furnace." 

"Well,  I  don't  care  where  it  was.  You  don't 
know  whose  it  was,  or  what  it  was,  and  nobody  will 
find  out  that  you  saw  anything  unless  you  lose  your 
head  and  blurt  it  out;  and  if  you  do,  her  blood  will 
be  upon  you  all  the  rest  of  your  life,  and  you'll  never 
wash  it  out  with  all  your  tears." 

"Oh,  Miss  Mapes!" 

"Oh,  Miss  Mapes,  indeed!"  sneered  the  house- 
keeper. "  Work  yourself  into  hysterics !  Do!  That's 
just  the  condition  they  want  you  in." 

"Oh,  please  Miss  Mapes!  You  know  I'd  do  any- 
thing to  help,  but  don't  you  think  it  would  be  safer 
to  go  back?" 

"Yes,  if  you're  afraid  to  stay  here.  But,  for  Heav- 
en's sake,  make  up  your  mind  one  way  or  the  other." 

39 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"Will  you  come?" 

"I?  Indeed  I  will  not!  But  you'd  better  start 
now  if  you  want  to  run  away.  You  haven't  a  minute 
to  lose." 

"Oh,  I  can't.     I  daren't  go  without  you." 

"Then  stay  and  keep  your  mouth  shut!" 

"But  if  they  ask  you?" 

"They  may  ask  and  ask  again,  one  and  all,  and 
much  good  it  may  do  'em.  I  can  take  care  of  my- 
self." 

The  sound  of  a  bell  brought  both  women  to  their 
feet,  and  for  a  moment  there  was  deep  silence.  Then 
Miss  Mapes  whispered: 

"That's  Barstow's  man.  I  thought  he'd  come  to- 
night. You  stay  here  and  listen  to  what  I  say.  I'll 
go  to  the  door." 

I  suppose  a  more  quick-witted  man  would  have 
risked  discovery  and  escaped  when  he  first  heard 
the  women  talking,  and  I  have  no  defence  for  my 
inaction  save  the  fact  that  in  the  few  seconds  which 
developed  this  conversation  I  did  not  realize  what 
was  happening.  Even  when  Miss  Mapes  started  for 
the  front  door  I  still  stood  against  the  wall,  my 
heart  throbbing  with  excitement.  Then  suddenly 
the  full  purport  of  what  I  had  heard  burst  upon 
me,  and  I  stepped  forward  just  as  the  kitchen  door 
was  thrown  open,  driving  me  behind  it  as  it  swung 
and  penning  me  between  it  and  the  wall.  I  could 
hear  some  one  pass  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  almost  im- 
mediately my  view  was  obstructed  by  the  figure  of  a 

40 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

young  woman  who  had  placed  herself  close  to  the 
open  window  and  against  the  wall  exactly  where  I  had 
first  stood.  I  could  not  have  escaped  then  without 
brushing  her  aside,  although  I  might  possibly  have 
reached  my  horse  without  disclosing  my  identity, 
but  I  hesitated  to  risk  the  hue  and  cry  which  would 
be  instantly  raised  and  might  end  in  my  capture  and 
humiliation.  I  also  entertained  the  hope  that  I  might 
not  overhear  any  further  embarrassing  conversation, 
in  which  case  there  was  nothing  to  be  gained  by  beat- 
ing an  immediate  retreat. 

In  this,  however,  I  was  doomed  to  speedy  disap- 
pointment, for  Miss  Mapes  was  speaking  as  she  re- 
entered  the  room  with  a  light,  and,  although  I  shrank 
farther  behind  the  door,  I  could  hear  every  word  she 
uttered. 

"I  don't  think  you  quite  understand  our  position 
in  this  matter,  Miss  Mapes,"  I  heard  the  visitor 
reply. 

"I  understand  it  well  enough,"  Miss  Mapes  re- 
torted, curtly. 

"I  hardly  think  so,"  answered  the  visitor,  pleas- 
antly. "We  are  striving  to  do  all  we  can  for  Miss 
Emory,  but  we  cannot  do  our  best  work  in  the 
dark." 

"Indeed!"  snapped  the  housekeeper.  "I  should 
think  darkness  would  favor  lawyers'  doings." 

"I  know  you  don't  like  the  profession,"  laughed 
the  man,  good-naturedly.  "But  too  little  confidence 
is  apt  to  be  more  dangerous  than  too  much.  Mr. 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

Barstow  most  earnestly  advised  you  to  remain  out 
of  the  State  until  the  trial  was  over,  and  he  cannot 
understand  why  you  have  returned." 

"And  I  can't  understand  why  he  allowed  Miss 
Emory  to  be  indicted." 

"My  dear  madam!     He  could  not  prevent  it." 

"Indeed!  Then  why  was  I  bundled  out  of  the 
way?" 

"It  was  thought  you  might  be  compelled  to  give 
embarrassing  testimony." 

"Didn't  he  promise  that  if  I  went  away  no  harm 
should  happen  her?" 

"  Who  ?  Mr.  Barstow  ?  Perhaps  he  did.  But  don't 
you  think  what  has  happened  is  bad  enough  without 
making  it  any  worse." 

"I  couldn't  make  it  worse." 

"Indeed,  you  could  and  will.  Mr.  Barstow  has 
prepared  his  defence  in  the  belief  that  you  are  safely 
outside  the  State  and  cannot  be  called  as  a  witness. 
He  has  actually  proceeded  to  trial  counting  on  this 
fact,  and  it  is  no  longer  possible  to  obtain  a  post- 
ponement. Now,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  you  turn  up 
and  compel  him  to  meet  God  knows  what  testimony; 
for  I  tell  you  very  frankly  that  he  has  reason  to  be- 
lieve you  have  never  given  him  your  full  story. 
Can't  you  see  how  embarrassing,  if  not  fatal,  this 
move  of  yours  may  be  ?" 

The  speaker's  tone  was  earnest  and  persuasive, 
and  the  girl,  listening  outside  the  window,  leaned 
forward  excitedly. 

42 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Now,  Mr.  Hunt,"  Miss  Mapes's  voice  replied, 
"you've  had  your  say,  and  I'll  have  mine.  I  went 
away  at  Mr.  Barstow's  request  for  one  and  only  one 
reason,  and  that  was  to  protect  Alice  Emory.  How 
has  it  protected  her?  Hardly  a  word  of  suspicion 
had  been  uttered  against  her  when  I  left,  and  now 
she  is  on  trial  for  her  life.  Mr.  Barstow  couldn't  help 
it,  couldn't  he?  Well,  I  don't  believe  he  could,  with 
the  methods  he's  adopted,  and  I'm  sick  and  tired 
of  him  and  his  methods.  Why  did  he  shut  the  girl's 
mouth  and  not  allow  her  to  utter  a  word  since  the 
day  I  went  away?" 

"Really,  Miss  Mapes,  I  can't  discuss  that.  It's 
part  of  his  policy." 

"It's  part  of  a  bad  policy,  I  say.  He  ought  to 
have  allowed  her  to  tell  everything  she  knew.  I 
believe  it  was  my  going  away  which  first  started 
suspicion  against  her,  and  Betty  Field's  mysterious 
disappearance  made  more  mischief,  so  we've  come 
back  to  undo  it." 

"What!     The  Field  girl  hasn't  come  back,  too?" 

The  question  was  an  incredulous  whisper  of  dismay. 

"She  certainly  has,"  was  the  calm  rejoinder. 
"She  is  here  now." 

"What!     In  this  house?     Good  God!" 

The  girl  listening  at  the  window  clasped  her  hands 
and  cowered  as  she  heard  the  frightened  exclamation, 
and  for  some  seconds  there  was  deep  silence.  But 
when  the  man  spoke  again  his  voice  had  recovered  its 
composure. 

4  43 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"Does  the  other  side  know  you're  here  yet?"  he 
inquired. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know.     Probably  not." 

"Then  there's  time  yet.  Make  the  most  of  it,  Miss 
Mapes.  Go,  and  take  the  Field  girl  with  you.  I've  no 
doubt  you've  acted  with  the  best  possible  intentions, 
but  you're  on  the  verge  of  making  a  terrible  mistake." 

"What?  Go  away  and  leave  Miss  Alice  alone,  and. 
let  them  say  what  they  please  about  our  disappear- 
ance? Not  much!  I've  done  with  Barstow!" 

"Don't  say  that,  Miss  Mapes,"  the  man  protested; 
"Miss  Emory  has  perfect  confidence  in  him." 

"Well,  I  haven't.  He  got  her  into  this  mess,  and 
I  won't  trust  him  to  get  her  out." 

"Very  well,  madam" — the  man's  voice  hardened 
with  the  words — "if  this  is  your  final  decision  you 
must  take  the  consequences,  whatever  they  may  be. 
Mr.  Barstow  knows  more  about  you  than  you  think, 
and  though  he  would  very  much  regret  to  involve  any 
one  else  in  this  case — and  you  will  bear  witness  that 
he  has  always  guarded  your  interests  as  scrupulously 
as  though  you  were  his  client — he  cannot  be  hampered 
in  his  defence,  madam,  and  I  tell  you  plainly  he  will 
not  be." 

"Barstow  says  all  that,  does  he?"  snapped  the 
woman.  "Well,  you  go  back  and  tell  him  I'd  rather 
trust  a  jury  than  him  any  day  in  the  week,  and  you 
can  tell  him,  too,  that  if  I  were  dying  for  want  of  ad- 
vice, and  he  was  the  only  man  in  the  world  to  give  it, 
I'd  die  decently  without  it." 

44 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

The  girl  cowering  beneath  the  window-sill  sank  on 
the  ground  as  she  heard  the  housekeeper's  impassion- 
ed words,  and  her  stifled  sobbing  was  plainly  audible 
to  me  in  the  intense  stillness.  Then  a  chair  grated 
along  the  kitchen  floor  as  the  visitor  rose  to  his  feet. 

"It's  too  bad  you  should  allow  your  personal 
prejudices  to  influence  you  at  a  time  like  this,  Miss 
Mapes,"  he  observed,  calmly  but  remonstratingly. 
"To  interfere  with  a  lawyer  at  an  important  crisis 
in  a  case  of  this  sort  is  a  serious  matter.  I  don't 
know  why  you  assume  to  be  wiser  than  Mr.  Barstow; 
but  perhaps  you  have  private  reasons  which  are  con- 
vincing. However,  you  have  assumed  the  responsi- 
bility and  must  abide  by  it.  I  only  hope  it  may  not 
prove  insupportable.  Good-night." 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Hunt.  I'll  be  here  when  any- 
body wants  me." 

The  visitor  made  no  audible  reply,  and  I  heard 
him  cross  the  room,  followed  by  the  housekeeper. 

The  woman  on  the  ground  did  not  move  at  once, 
but  at  last  she  rose  slowly  and  turned  to  the  door.  As 
she  reached  it  Miss  Mapes  appeared  upon  the  thresh- 
old. Instantly  the  younger  woman  flung  herself  into 
the  housekeeper's  arms. 

"Oh,  I'll  do  anything,  say  anything  you  wish, 
dear  Miss  Mapes!"  she  whispered,  excitedly.  "But 
oh,  I  haven't  any  courage!  I  haven't  any  at  all!" 

Miss  Mapes  gathered  the  sobbing  girl  to  her  breast. 

"I  haven't  any,  either,  child,"  she  whispered,  and 
her  voice  was  choked  with  tears. 

45 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

For  a  few  moments  they  remained  clasped  in  each 
other's  embrace,  and  then  the  elder  woman  disen- 
gaged herself,  and,  supporting  her  companion,  passed 
into  the  house. 

The  instant  they  disappeared  I  darted  into  the 
screen  of  trees,  but  I  did  not  breathe  easily  again  until 
the  Shaw  farm-house  lay  many  miles  behind  me. 


VI 

I  WAS  tired  and  hungry  when  I  reached  home,  but 
I  could  scarcely  touch  the  tempting  supper  which 
awaited  me,  and  when  I  tried  to  sleep,  the  end  of  an 
hour's  wakeful  tossing  found  me  nervously  excited 
and  unstrung.  At  last  I  rose,  and,  wrapping  a  bath- 
robe about  me,  settled  down  at  my  study-table  to 
lose  myself  in  work.  But  the  papers  I  had  left  with 
such  reluctance  in  the  morning  no  longer  had  the 
slightest  charm  or  interest.  The  realm  of  Persian 
poesy  appeared  empty  and  unreal  beside  the  living, 
practical  world  with  which  I  had  been  in  touch. 
The  drama  and  passion  of  fancy  had  become  shadowy 
and  dull  when  contrasted  with  the  flesh-and-blood 
tragedy  which  had  been  forced  upon  my  attention. 
All  my  delving  in  the  past  for  remnants  of  forgotten 
lore  seemed  petty  in  the  light  of  my  newly -acquired 
responsibilities,  and,  instead  of  calming  my  nerves  by 
returning  to  familiar  themes,  I  merely  developed  a 
fine  contempt  for  them  and  for  myself  as  a  foolish 
potterer  with  matters  not  worth  while. 

At  last,  exhausted  by  the  fruitless  effort  to  divert 
my  mind,  I  abandoned  the  attempt  and  settled  back 
in  my  arm-chair  to  review  the  events  of  the  day  with 

47 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

such  calmness  as  I  could  command.  It  was  idle  to 
deny  that  my  desire  for  first-hand  information  had 
placed  me  in  a  very  embarrassing,  if  not  a  humiliat- 
ing, position.  The  gravity  of  the  situation,  however, 
aided  me  to  a  solution,  for  as  I  thought  over  what  I 
had  heard  I  saw  that  I  could  not  conscientiously  re- 
tain my  seat  in  the  jury-box.  As  this  aspect  of  the 
affair  dawned  upon  me,  all  my  irritation  and  nervous- 
ness disappeared,  and  with  an  apologetic  good-night 
to  my  abused  volumes  I  returned  to  bed,  and  straight- 
way fell  asleep. 

Immediately  after  breakfast  the  next  morning  I 
started  out  to  find  Judge  Dudley  and  tender  my  resig- 
nation from  the  jury,  and,  much  to  my  delight,  I 
learned  that  his  Honor's  residence  was  only  a  few 
miles  from  Hefryville. 

At  the  Judge's  house,  however,  I  was  informed 
that  the  owner  had  gone  to  the  city  and  would  not 
return  until  Monday  evening  after  the  adjournment 
of  Court.  Though  disappointed  at  this  I  was  not 
discouraged,  and,  learning  that  the  prosecutor  lived 
near  Pollicet,  I  resolved  to  tell  him  why  I  could  take 
no  further  part  in  the  Emory  case,  and  ask  him  to 
present  my  excuse  to  the  Court.  The  journey  to 
Pollicet  would  spoil  a  morning's  work,  but  I  knew  it 
would  save  me  the  longer  trip  to  Melton  on  Monday, 
and  until  I  had  disposed  of  this  business  I  had  little 
hope  of  concentrating  my  mind  on  other  things. 

But  at  Pollicet  I  met  with  another  disappoint- 
ment. Mr.  Gilbert,  it  appeared,  had  gone  out  early 

48 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

in  the  morning,  leaving  word  that  he  might  not  re- 
turn for  luncheon. 

"An"  I  reckon  he  won't,"  concluded  the  colored 
gentleman  who  supplied  this  disheartening  informa- 
tion. 

I  eyed  the  fellow  sharply,  and  detected  a  knowing 
smile  hovering  on  his  lips. 

"Did  he  leave  word  where  he  was  going?"  I  asked, 
with  sudden  inspiration. 

"No,  suh.  He  done  leave  no  word,"  asserted  the 
darky,  with  broadening  grin. 

"Well,  do  you  know  where  he  is?"  I  inquired, 
anxiously. 

"I  'specks  I  could  make  a  right  smart  guess, 
suh." 

"I've  got  the  mate  of  this  for  you  if  your  guess  is 
right,"  I  asserted,  tossing  him  half  a  dollar. 

He  caught  it  deftly,  his  eyes  sparkling  merrily. 

"I  reckon  you-all  may's  well  give  me  the  rest  now, 
boss,"  he  grinned;  "save  yo'  drivin'  back — 'deed  it 
will,"  he  concluded,  with  a  chuckle. 

The  sound  of  his  musical  laughter  reminded  me 
of  his  master's,  and  I  had  not  the  slightest  doubt 
where  Deake  Gilbert  had  acquired  his  infectious  gift 
of  mirth. 

"Out  with  your  guess,  and,  if  I  think  it's  good, 
maybe  I'll  pay  you  in  advance,"  I  said. 

The  darky  made  no  immediate  answer,  but  after  a 
few  embarrassed  chuckles  glanced  up  at  me  with  a 
confidential  wink. 

49 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Reckon  he's  down  to  Mis'  Frayne's,  boss,"  he 
vouchsafed,  and  started  chuckling  again,  but  the 
expression  of  my  face  evidently  made  him  think  I 
mistrusted  his  information  and  that  his  contingent 
fee  was  in  danger. 

"He's  down  there  suah,  boss,"  he  asserted,  with 
convincing  earnestness. 

"Very  likely  you're  right,"  I  answered,  coldly, 
and,  tossing  him  the  other  half-dollar,  I  drove  on. 

For  a  while  I  flouted  the  idea  that  I  was  unpleasant- 
ly affected  by  the  knowledge  of  Gilbert's  whereabouts. 
How  could  I  possibly  be  annoyed  by  finding  the  man 
I  was  seeking  ?  Nothing  could  be  more  unreasonable 
and  absurd.  Nevertheless,  it  was  a  fact.  But  when 
I  admitted  this  to  myself  I  was  unable  to  assign  a 
reason  for  my  irritation,  and  concluded  with  no  little 
internal  rage  that  I  was  not  in  the  least  disturbed. 

Less  than  half  a  mile  separated  Gilbert's  cottage 
from  the  Fraynes',  but  in  that  short  distance  I  was 
so  busily  engaged  in  combating  my  ridiculous  state  of 
mind  that  I  completely  forgot  the  object  of  my  er- 
rand, and  I  must  confess  I  did  not  immediately  recall 
it  when  I  heard  a  cheerful  shout  as  I  turned  in  at  the 
"  Heathercote "  gates  and  saw  Barbara  Frayne  run- 
ning across  the  lawn  to  meet  me.  In  another  mo- 
ment she  had  bounded  into  the  seat  beside  me  and 
was  shaking  my  hand  most  cordially. 

"This  is  a  welcome  surprise,  Sir  Knight!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "I've  been  blaming  myself  because  I  did 
not  insist  upon  your  staying  for  dinner  last  night. 

5° 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

It  was  nothing  less  than  inhuman  to  allow  you  to  go 
on.  Mother  said  so,  too,  and  when  I  mentioned 
your  name  father  declared  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
myself  for  not  knowing  that  you  were  the  most  dis- 
tinguished writer  of  the  day  on — on — " 

Miss  Frayne  paused  and  gazed  at  me  with  an  ex- 
pression of  dismay. 

"Isn't  it  dreadful!"  she  gasped,  putting  her  hand 
to  her  forehead. 

"What  is  dreadful?"  I  inquired. 

"I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute!"  she  exclaimed,  laying 
her  hand  on  my  arm  as  though  warding  me  off. 
"You're  the  most  distinguished  writer  of  the  day  on 
— on — on  Peasant  Pottery!" 

"I'm  sure  I  wish  I  were,"  I  answered,  laughing. 

"No — of  course  not!"  she  exclaimed,  with  tragic 
earnestness.  "What  am  I  thinking  of!  Wait  a 
minute  and  I'll  have  it!"  she  cried. 

"I'm  not  a  distinguished  writer  on  anything," 
I  protested.  "Your  father  has  made  a  mistake." 

"I'm  not  sure  of  that,"  she  replied,  doubtfully; 
"but  I  know  it  is  friendly  and  forgiving  of  you  to 
call,  and — " 

"But,  to  tell  the  truth,  Miss  Frayne—"  I  began, 
with  some  embarrassment. 

"Don't,  if  it's  not  gallant,"  she  interposed,  laugh- 
ingly. "You  know  I  look  upon  you  as  my  knight, 
and  I  refuse  to  allow  you  to  spoil  the  romance  of  my 
life  by  saying  you've  lost  your  way  again  and  just 
drove  in  by  accident." 


THE  ACCOMPLICE 

"No,  but  I  came  to  see  Mr.  Gilbert,"  I  blurted 
out. 

"Mr.  Gilbert?"  she  exclaimed,  wonderingly,  her 
cheeks  flushing  hotly.  "Why  should  you  think — " 

"I  heard  that  he  was  here,"  I  answered,  in  some 
confusion. 

"I  thought  you  didn't  know  him,"  she  began,  re~ 
proachfully. 

"I  don't,  really,"  I  answered.  "It  is  a  matter  of 
business  which  brings  me — " 

"  I  ought  not  to  have  spoken  of  him  as  I  did  yes- 
terday," she  interrupted,  with  dignity.  "No  doubt 
he  is  doing  what  he  thinks  is  right,  and,  even  though 
we  cannot  remain  friends,  it  wasn't  fair — " 

"Your  confidence  will  go  no  further,"  I  hastened 
to  assure  her. 

"But  I  ought  not  to  have  been  confidential,"  she 
insisted,  self -accusingly.  "And  I  don't  know  why  I 
was,  unless  your  sympathetic  attitude  led  me  on. 
You  were  sympathetic,  weren't  you?"  she  demanded, 
wistfully. 

"I  certainly  understood  how  you  felt,"  I  answered, 
smiling. 

"Yes,  you  did — didn't  you?"  she  continued,  eager- 
ly. "I  felt  drawn  towards  you — you  seemed  to  in- 
vite my  confidence  and —  No — that  wasn't  it  at 
all!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  just  talked  too  much  and 
too  thoughtlessly,  and  that's  all  there  is  about  it." 

"No  harm  has  been  done  in  any  case,"  I  asserted. 
"Is  Mr.  Gilbert  still  here?" 

52 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"Yes,  he's  in  the  library  with  father.  They  are 
great  pals,  and  he  is  very  much  at  home  here." 

"Your  welcome  would  insure  that,"  I  answered, 
jesuitically. 

"My  welcome  is  not  all  things  to  all  men,"  she  re- 
joined, oracularly. 

"It  is  everything  to  me,"  I  responded,  and  then 
paused,  appalled  at  my  asininity. 

"Spoken  like  a  true  knight!"  she  exclaimed,  with 
saving  lightness.  "There's  father  now." 

We  drew  up  at  an  old  -  fashioned  country  -  house, 
and  I  was  immediately  introduced  to  Colonel  Frayne, 
who  greeted  me  most  cordially. 

"My  daughter  has  told  me  of  your  courtesy  to 
her,  Mr.  Lambert,"  he  began,  "and  I  feel  I  already 
know  you  through  your  books." 

"Mr.  Lambert  says  you  are  mistaken,  father," 
interposed  Miss  Frayne.  "It  isn't  he  who  writes  on 
Peasant  Pottery." 

" '  Peasant  Pottery!' "  laughed  Colonel  Frayne.  "  I 
told  you  'Persian  Poetry.'  Did  you  ever  know  such 
a  girl,  Mr.  Lambert?" 

"I  have  never  been  so  fortunate  before,"  I  re- 
plied. 

"Bravo,  Sir  Knight!"  cried  Miss  Barbara,  clapping 
her  hands  in  mock  applause. 

"I  warn  you,  Barbara,"  Colonel  Frayne  observed, 
"that  Mr.  Lambert's  Persian  friends  were  the  great- 
est flatterers  the  world  has  ever  known." 

"Then,  when  I've  read  all  his  books,  I  should 
S3 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

be  able  to  ask  a  very  pretty  pardon  for  not  having 
done  so  sooner,"  she  replied.  "Do  you  think  you 
will  be  able  to  forgive  me  ?" 

"Without  the  penance,  if  there  is  anything  to  par- 
don," I  responded,  offering  my  hand.  She  placed  her 
fingers  in  mine,  but  almost  instantly  withdrew  them. 

"Here  is  the  man  you've  come  to  meet,"  she  an- 
nounced, as  Gilbert  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

The  situation  was  decidedly  embarrassing.  I  was 
not  sure  that  Gilbert  would  remember  me,  and  I 
could  not  discuss  my  business  before  our  hosts. 
Moreover,  I  had  every  reason  for  wishing  to  make 
no  announcement  of  my  connection  with  the  Emory 
case  until  it  was  a  thing  of  the  past.  The  prose- 
cutor, however,  recognized  me  at  once  and  placed 
me  entirely  at  my  ease. 

"  Good  -  morning,  Mr.  Lambert,"  he  called  out. 
"You're  the  right  man  in  the  right  place,  and  you've 
arrived  just  in  time  to  settle  a  dispute  between 
Colonel  Frayne  and  me — " 

"It  hardly  amounts  to  a  dispute,"  confidently  in- 
terrupted the  colonel. 

"I  agree  with  you  for  once,"  laughed  Gilbert.  "I 
should  have  said  you've  come  in  the  nick  of  time, 
Mr.  Lambert,  to  correct  our  host's  interpretation  of 
the  lines  of  '  Hamlet '  reading — " 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  no  authority  on  Shakespeare,  Mr. 
Gilbert,"  I  protested. 

"No  expert  is  required  to  settle  this  point,"  as- 
serted the  colonel.  "Here,  I'll  fetch  the  book — " 

54 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Now,  father,"  interrupted  his  daughter,  "before 
you  draw  Mr.  Lambert  into  this  discussion  I  want  to 
tell  you  that  he  has  come  to  see  Mr.  Gilbert  and  not 
us.  Suppose  we  drive  his  horse  to  the  stables  while 
he  disposes  of  his  business." 

She  drew  the  old  gentleman's  arm  through  hers 
as  she  spoke  and  led  him  towards  the  buggy. 

"Here!  I  protest,  Miss  Frayne,"  interposed  Gil- 
bert. "This  is  most  unfair.  You've  heard  your 
father  worst  me  a  hundred  times,  and  to  cover  his 
retreat  at  the  moment  of  my  most  spectacular  tri- 
umph is  giving  aid  and  comfort  to  the  enemy,  which 
is  most  provocative  of  war." 

"I  never  professed  to  be  neutral." 

"But  I  propose  an  armistice  and  arbitration." 

The  girl  looked  up  at  her  father. 

"Are  we  to  accept  terms  from  the  vanquished?" 
she  demanded. 

"There's  a  partisan  for  you!"  laughed  Gilbert. 
"She  doesn't  know  what  the  question  is,  but  she  is 
sure  her  side  is  right." 

"I'd  rather  be  loyal  than  judicial." 

"Why  not  be  both  and  be  fair?" 

"Now,  you  two!  If  we  wait  until  you  finish 
skirmishing  we'll  be  here  all  day,"  interrupted  Colonel 
Frayne.  "Come,  Barbara,  if  we're  going  to  the 
stable.  Of  course  you'll  stay  to  lunch  with  us,  Mr. 
Lambert?" 

Without  waiting  for  my  answer,  Miss  Frayne 
touched  the  horse  with  the  whip  and  started  off  with 

55 


THE  ACCOMPLICE 

her  father  for  the  stables.  As  they  disappeared  I 
turned  to  the  prosecutor  and  immediately  broached 
the  subject  of  my  errand. 

"I  followed  you  here  this  morning,  Mr.  Gilbert," 
I  began,  "for  the  purpose  of  speaking  about  the 
Emory  case,  and — " 

"But  you  mustn't,"  he  interrupted,  good-nat- 
uredly. 

"I  certainly  must,"  I  insisted,  seriously.  "Since 
the  Court  adjourned  yesterday  I  have  unwittingly 
heard  certain  things  which  compel  my  resignation 
from  the  jury." 

"Your  resignation?"  he  repeated,  smilingly. 
"We've  no  right  to  talk  about  this  case  at  all,  you 
know,"  he  added,  warningly,  "but — " 

"But  necessity  knows  no  law,"  I  interrupted.  "I 
cannot  act  as  a  juror  any  longer,  and  I  would  like  you 
to  present  my  excuses  to  the  Court." 

Gilbert  struggled  to  keep  a  serious  face,  and  he 
succeeded  fairly  well,  but  I  could  see  he  was  amused, 
and  the  fact  annoyed  me. 

"I  hope  you  won't  think  me  discourteous,  Mr. 
Lambert,"  he  responded,  "but  I  really  cannot  listen 
to  you  on  this  subject.  If  you've  anything  to  say 
about  resigning,  you  must  say  it  in  person  to  the 
Judge.  He  is  the  only  one  who  can  properly  hear  you, 
and  he  alone  can  discharge  you  from  duty.  In  the 
mean  time,  let  us  taboo  the  subject." 

I  was  too  provoked  by  this  summary  disposition 
of  the  business  to  answer  at  once,  but  Gilbert  pre- 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

vented  an  awkward  pause  by  some  tactful  observa- 
tions on  the  inconveniences  to  which  jurors  were  sub- 
jected and  the  impossibility  of  avoiding  them.  His 
handling  of  the  situation  was  so  easy  and  sympa- 
thetic that  I  was  speedily  mollified,  and  when  he  shift- 
ed the  conversation  by  asking  how  long  I  had  known 
the  Fraynes  I  replied  that  I  had  met  Miss  Frayne  for 
the  first  time  only  the  day  before. 

"Then  you  must  be  her  knight-errant,"  he  haz- 
arded. 

"I  happened  to  meet  her  after  her  mishap,  and 
drove  her  home,"  I  answered. 

"That's  what  I  mean,"  he  responded.  "She  called 
you  her  knight-errant,  and  was  so  enthusiastic  about 
your  chivalry  that  I  dubbed  you  a  knight  of  the  road 
who  had  stolen  her  heart — which  made  her  perfectly 
furious." 

I  tried  to  smile  appreciatively,  but  the  remark 
and  the  tone  and  manner  in  which  it  was  voiced 
infuriated  me.  Gilbert  was  scarcely  two  years  my 
junior,  yet  he  was  talking  to  me  as  though  I  were  a 
toothless  old  man. 

"I'm  surprised  you've  never  met  Colonel  Frayne 
before,"  he  continued,  affably.  "He  is  a  remark- 
ably well-read  man,  and  his  library  is  very  unusual. 
Come  in  and  take  a  look  at  it." 

There  was  nothing  in  Gilbert's  manner  to  war- 
rant the  suspicion  that  he  was  manoeuvring  to  im- 
mure me  in  the  library  while  he  monopolized  Miss 
Frayne,  but  a  spirit  of  opposition  possessed  me,  and 

57 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

I  would  not  have  followed  any  suggestion  of  his  no 
matter  what  it  had  been. 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  answered,  coolly.  "I  see  so 
much  of  books — " 

"I  understand,"  he  interposed.  ".But  Colonel 
Frayne's  collection  is  such  a  rare  one  I  thought  it 
might  interest  you." 

"Even  the  book-worm  will  occasionally  turn," 
I  retorted,  meaningly,  but  my  shot  miscarried,  for 
the  prosecutor  merely  laughed  politely  and  let  the 
subject  drop. 

I  might  as  well  have  been  gracious,  however,  for 
the  moment  Colonel  Frayne  reappeared  he  carried 
me  off  to  the  library,  and  Gilbert  was  left  in  possession 
of  the  field. 

My  host  certainly  had  one  of  the  finest  private 
collections  I  had  ever  examined;  but  I  confess  I 
spent  most  of  the  morning  in  artfully  arousing  his 
interest  in  my  own  small  library,  and  it  was  not  until 
he  had  declared  that  he  would  drive  over  to  Hefry- 
ville  with  Miss  Barbara  the  very  next  day  and  have  a 
look  at  it  that  I  took  any  real  pleasure  in  his  scholarly 
shelves.  Having  executed  this  flank  movement,  how- 
ever, I  became  genuinely  absorbed  in  the  colonel's 
treasures,  and  he  soon  left  me  to  my  own  devices. 
When  I  looked  up  and  discovered  that  I  was  alone,  I 
rose  and  moved  towards  the  door.  There  was  no  one 
in  sight,  but  the  sound  of  an  old-fashioned  and  vague- 
ly familiar  tune  came  floating  to  me  from  the  music- 
room,  into  which  Gilbert  and  Miss  Frayne  had  disap- 

58 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

peared  as  the  colonel  started  me  off  for  the  library. 
I  slipped  into  the  hall,  book  in  hand,  and  followed 
the  sound  of  the  piano,  determined  that  Gilbert 
should  not  have  everything  to  himself  if  I  could  help 
it.  Moreover,  I  was  really  curious  to  know  what 
song  Miss  Barbara  was  playing. 

But  as  I  glanced  through  the  door  I  saw  that  Gil- 
bert had  everything  to  himself,  for  he  was  the  only 
occupant,  and  it  was  he  who  was  softly  fingering  the 
keys.  I  watched  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  tip- 
toed into  the  library  again,  and  as  I  retreated  the 
words  of  his  ballad  followed  me: 

"  My  only  books  are  woman's  looks, 
And  folly's  all  they've  taught  me." 


VII 


'T'HE  Sunday  which  Colonel  Frayne  and  his  daughter 
1  spent  at  Hefryville  was  in  every  way  ideal.  If 
the  sun  had  ever  shone  before  in  all  its  glory,  I  had 
not  been  conscious  of  its  wondrous  beauty;  if  other 
autumn  days  had  been  as  clear  and  bracing,  I  must 
have  remained  cooped  up  in  my  library  and  missed 
their  invigorating  impulse.  Scarcely  a  breath  of  wind 
stirred  the  crimson  and  brown  foliage  massed  upon 
the  hill-sides,  and  yet  the  atmosphere  was  invigor- 
ating— exhilarating — intoxicating  to  the  point  of  ex- 
altation. 

Never  shall  I  forget  the  sense  of  serenity  which 
pervaded  our  valley  as  Barbara  Frayne  and  I  viewed 
it  in  the  wondrous  light  of  that  glorious  afternoon. 
Nature,  relaxed  and  dreamy,  seemed  waiting  with  a 
deep,  indrawn  breath  of  joyous  contentment  for  her 
well-beloved  sleep.  There  was  nothing  ominous  to 
me  in  the  trancelike  calm,  and  I  am  glad  there  was  not, 
for  any  premonition  of  the  future  would  simply  have 
deprived  me  of  an  inspiring  memory  without  fore- 
arming me  against  the  coming  of  events. 

It  was  difficult  to  recognize  my  breezy  comrade 
of  the  preceding  days  in  the  quiet,  womanly  girl  who 

60 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

became  my  guest  at  Hefryville.  Yet  the  two  per- 
sonalities were  not  irreconcilable.  Barbara  Frayne 
was  a  natural  being  who  shared  nature's  moods  and 
responded  to  its  influence.  She  was  a  living  protest 
against  convention — a  grateful  relief  from  the  tyranny 
of  consistency.  There  is  an  aching  dulness  about 
people  who  are  always  themselves — or  always  their 
best  selves, 'or  always  their  true  selves.  One  could 
never  be  sure  that  Barbara  was  her  best  self — her 
possibilities  were  too  limitless  for  prophecy.  One 
could  not  swear  that  she  was  ever  her  true  self — she 
was  too  many-sided  for  a  single  point  of  view.  But 
one  always  knew  that  she  was  genuine,  no  matter  in 
what  guise  the  witch  appeared.  I  think  I  understood 
this  instinctively,  for  I  experienced  no  surprise  when 
I  found  she  offered  me  at  Hefryville  the  quiet, 
thoughtful  companionship  of  a  matured  woman. 

There  was  little  need  to  entertain  Colonel  Frayne. 
Once  in  my  library,  he  was  anchored;  for  my  books, 
though  few  in  number,  appealed  to  his  particular  in- 
terest, and  he  resisted  all  our  efforts  to  drag  him  out- 
of-doors.  At  another  time  I  would  have  taken  pleas- 
ure in  exhibiting  my  treasures  to  him  in  person,  but 
his  daughter's  delight  in  our  scenery  led  me  far  afield, 
and  we  spent  the  day  exploring  the  neighborhood,  of 
which  I  knew  almost  as  little  as  my  guest.  Indeed,  I 
had  to  confess  that  I  had  never  investigated  its 
beauties  until  that  day. 

"Aren't  you  ashamed  to  admit  it?"  she  exclaimed, 
as  we  reached  the  crest  of  a  hill  from  which  the  coun- 

61 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

try  could  be  seen  rolling  for  miles  below  us  in  all  the 
soft-toned  colors  of  an  Oriental  tapestry. 

"I  am  glad  I  have  waited  until  now,"  I  replied; 
but  she  did  not  ask  my  reason,  and  I  doubted  if  she 
heard  the  answer,  for  I  could  see  her  eyes  following 
some  sportsmen  crossing  a  field  below  us,  the  sun- 
light flashing  from  the  polished  barrels  of  their  guns, 
and  she  suddenly  turned  to  me,  her  face  flushing  with 
indignation. 

"How  can  men  kill  anything  such  a  day  as  this!" 
she  exclaimed.  "They  must  be  worse  than  brutal! 
Even  beasts  don't  kill  one  another  for  mere  sport." 

I  shook  my  head  assentingly. 

"And  yet  some  of  the  gentlest  and  most  sensitive 
of  men  are  sportsmen,"  I  suggested. 

"They  must  be  brutal  at  heart,"  she  asserted. 

"Not  necessarily,"  I  answered.  "The  matter  is 
much  more  complex  than  that." 

"I  don't  think  it's  complex,"  she  replied.  "Men 
shoot  harmless  animals  for  sport  because  they  are 
essentially  brutal,  and  can't  or  don't  want  to  live  it 
down.  Isn't  that  the  whole  truth?" 

"I  hardly  think  so,"  I  answered,  smilingly. 

"Well,  I've  heard  plenty  of  reasons  for  the  com- 
plexity, and  never  one  excuse,"  she  maintained. 
"But  then,  perhaps,  as  Mr.  Gilbert  says,  I  have  no 
reasoning  powers." 

"He  was  teasing  you,"  I  suggested. 

"Indeed  he  wasn't,"  she  asserted.  "He  was  de- 
fending some  of  his  own  complexities.  I  wouldn't 

62 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

like  to  be  a  lawyer,"  she  continued,  musingly. 
"Would  you?" 

"I  don't  think  I  should,"  I  admitted.  "There 
is  a  certain  fascination  in  matching  your  mind 
against  another's  in  actual  conflict,  and  the  law 
affords  about  the  only  opportunities  for  this,  but — " 

"But  think  of  hounding  a  human  being  to  death! 
Everybody  has  a  horror  of  an  executioner,  but  the 
lawyer  who  provides  the  victim  is  highly  respected, 
and  has  no  need  of  a  black  mask.  Is  that  another 
complexity?" 

I  made  no  answer,  for  I  recognized  the  dangerous 
tendency  of  the  conversation;  but  after  a  few  mo- 
ments' silence  she  continued  as  though  I  had  replied. 

"I  dare  say  you  are  right,"  she  admitted,  reflec- 
tively. "Deake  Gilbert  isn't  essentially  brutal.  He 
wouldn't  intentionally  hurt  any  one's  feelings,  I  sup- 
pose ;  and  yet — and  yet  he  will  murder  a  woman  like 
Alice  Emory!" 

Her  puzzled  tone  lent  startling  bitterness  to  the 
words. 

"You  mustn't  say  that!"  I  burst  out,  impulsively. 
"It  isn't  right  or  fair." 

She  started  at  the  sudden  attack,  and  her  cheeks 
crimsoned. 

"Perhaps  I  should  not  have  spoken  so  forcibly," 
I  began,  for  I  was  a  bit  alarmed  at  my  own  vehe- 
mence. "But  I  could  not  bear  to  hear  you  say  such 
a  thing,  because — " 

"Please  don't  apologize,"  she  interrupted.  "You 
63 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

make  me  feel  more  guilty.  Of  course,  I  ought  not  to 
have  said  anything  of  the  sort.  I'm  very,  very  sorry. 
But  it  all  seems  so  strange  and  contradictory  to  me 
I  can't  reconcile  myself  to  the  situation.  Perhaps 
some  day  I  may  understand.  But  now  everything 
seems  cruelly  wrong.  You  see,  Alice  Emory  is  one  of 
my  best  friends.  Let  me  tell  you  about  her.  Some 
years  ago — " 

"Please  stop!" 

The  words  were  almost  a  cry  of  distress,  and  the 
girl  drew  back  in  surprise  and  alarm. 

"We  must  not  speak  of  this  matter  now,  Miss 
Frayne,"  I  continued,  more  calmly,  "and  when  I  tell 
you  why  you  may  never  want  to  speak  to  me  again ; 
and  I  am  solely  to  blame,  for  I  should  have  told  you 
at  once  that  I  am  the  foreman  of  the  Emory  jury." 

"You  are  on  the  jury!" 

Her  whisper  was  an  exclamation  of  incredulity  and 
dismay. 

"Only  temporarily,"  I  protested.  '''I  tendered 
my  resignation  to  Mr.  Gilbert  yesterday,  and  I  go  to 
Melton  to  confirm  it  to-morrow.  But  I  have  been 
accepted  as  a  juror,  and  until  I  am  released  I  have 
no  right  to  hear  anything  about  the  case." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me?"  she  whispered,  and 
then  suddenly  paused. 

"  I  should  have  done  so,"  I  admitted. 

"Oh,  you  couldn't!"  she  gasped,  a  note  of  teary 
laughter  in  her  voice.  "  I — I  said  jurors  were — were 
half-idiots!" 

64 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"The  half  of  me  which  is  not  idiot  enables  me  to 
resign,"  I  responded,  lightly;  but  even  as  I  spoke  her 
face  assumed  an  expression  of  the  deepest  gravity. 

"Oh,  you  mustn't!"  she  protested,  earnestly. 
"  You  mustn't  resign." 

"I  have  practically  done  so  already,"  I  replied, 
conclusively. 

"You  must  not!  You  must  not,  indeed!"  she 
whispered,  gazing  earnestly  into  my  eyes.  "With 
you  on  the  jury  there  would  be  no  danger.  I  trust 
you  absolutely.  You  have  the  intelligence  to  under- 
stand and  would  make  the  others  see.  Promise  me 
you  won't  resign!  Promise — promise  me!" 

She  laid  her  hand  pleadingly  upon  my  arm  as  she 
spoke,  and  the  expression  of  her  face  was  startling 
in  its  intensity.  I  returned  her  gaze  with  blank 
astonishment,  and  then,  slowly  comprehending,  I 
sorrowfully  and  sympathetically  shook  my  head. 

She  turned  away,  but  I  could  see  that  she  was 
greatly  excited  and  distressed,  and  although  I  strug- 
gled to  find  some  word  to  soften  my  refusal  I  could 
think  of  none. 

"If  I  had  known  you  longer!"  she  burst  out,  at 
last,  "I  would  know  how  to  ask  this  of  you — " 

"If  I  had  known  you  longer,"  I  returned,  impul- 
sively, "I  would  dare  to  say  that  anything  I  could 
do  I  would  gladly  do  for  your  mere  asking.  But 
this—" 

I  paused,  fearing  that  I  had  already  said  too  much 
and  said  it  badly.  It  was  she  who  broke  the  long 

65 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

silence  which  followed,  and  when  she  spoke  her  voice 
had  regained  its  usual  calmness. 

"I  had  no  right  to  urge  you  against  your  judg- 
ment," she  began,  "nor  to  speak  as  I  did — " 

"You  have  every  right  which  I  can  give,"  I  in- 
terrupted, warmly,  "and  I  am  more  than  sorry — " 

"Please  forget  what  I  asked,"  she  responded, 
quietly. 

The  note  of  distress  in  her  voice  could  not  be  dis- 
regarded, but  I  chose  my  own  method  of  retreat. 

"I  do  not  want  to  forget  any  part  of  this  day,"  I 
protested. 

She  rose  and  stood  behind  me,  silently  gazing  out 
at  the  peaceful  landscape;  but  I  was  loath  to  give 
even  a  suggestion  of  returning  to  the  house  and  re- 
mained seated  at  her  feet. 

"It  has  been  glorious — hasn't  it?"  she  exclaimed, 
at  last.  "Don't  you  fairly  love  those  colors?" 
She  spread  out  her  arms  to  the  distant  hill-sides  as 
she  spoke.  "And  there  hasn't  been  a  cloud  in  the 
sky." 

"Only  one,"  I  answered,  without  looking  sky- 
ward. 

"And  that  has  gone  now,"  she  asserted,  cheerfully. 
"Look  at  the  friendly  little  moon  watching  us.  Not 
that  way,  stupid!  That's  unlucky!  Over  your  other 
shoulder!" 

With  her  hands  covering  my  eyes  it  took  some 
little  guidance  to  turn  me  in  the  safe  direction. 


VIII 

I  CONFESS  that  I  had  some  thought  of  driving 
to  Melton  via  Pollicet  in  the  morning,  but  on 
reconsidering  the  matter  I  decided  to  take  the  shortest 
road  to  the  county-seat  and  return  by  the  round- 
about way  later  in  the  day.  Various  considerations 
urged  this  change  of  plan,  but  my  chief  concern  was 
to  rid  myself  of  all  connection  with  the  Emory  case 
before  I  again  saw  the  Fraynes. 

The  little  town  of  Melton  was  in  a  bustle  of  ex- 
citement and  expectancy  as  I  drew  up  at  the  hotel. 
People  from  all  parts  of  the  county  had  been  ar- 
riving all  the  morning,  and  the  very  limited  accom- 
modations for  visitors  were  taxed  to  their  utmost 
capacity.  The  regular  session  of  the  Court — always 
more  or  less  of  an  occasion  and  market-meeting  for 
the  surrounding  country — had  not  only  attracted  the 
usual  local  gathering,  but  had  also  drawn  reporters 
from  the  city  newspapers  and  the  small  mob  of  city 
idlers  which  follows  in  their  wake  at  the  beckoning 
of  sensation.  I  found  that  I  was  already  a  person  of 
some  importance  to  the  expectant  throngs  assembled 
in  the  hotel  lobby.  More  than  once,  as  I  elbowed 
my  way  to  the  office  desk,  I  heard  myself  alluded 

67 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

to  as  "the  foreman,"  and  in  some  instances  the 
comment  was  not  altogether  flattering. 

"What?  Not  that  hatchet-faced  bean-pole  in  the 
city  clothes?"  whispered  a  voice  behind  me. 

"Yes — hush!"  cautioned  another  speaker. 

"Um!  Glad  he's  not  sitting  on  my  case,  aren't 
you  ?  Too  clean-cut,  soft-handed — and  hard-hearted 
—eh?" 

"You  can't  tell.  I  like  'em  with  blue-jeans  and 
whiskers  myself  most  of  the  Term,  but  occasionally 
you  find  one  of  his  kind  who's  soft  as  a  poached 

egg." 

I  ran  the  gantlet  of  my  critics  at  last,  and,  reach- 
ing the  office  desk,  inquired  for  Judge  Dudley.  He 
had  gone  to  his  chambers  in  the  court-house  I  was 
informed,  and  a  few  minutes  later  I  presented  my 
card  at  his  door. 

The  Honorable  Cephas  Dudley  was  a  judge  who 
sustained  the  dignity  of  his  court  in  his  own  person. 
Indeed,  it  was  said  that  his  protruding  lower  lip 
could  hold  court  all  by  itself.  Certainly  a  less  dis- 
tinguished-looking man  would  never  have  dared  to 
appear  in  the  garb  which  his  Honor  habitually  af- 
fected. His  rusty  old  broadcloth  coat,  low  -  cut 
waistcoat,  and  black  shoe-string  tie  with  absurdly 
long  ends  would  have  excited  ridicule  in  another 
person.  But  no  one  ever  thought  of  laughing  at  the 
Honorable  Justice  Dudley.  The  majestic  personality 
of  the  man  forbade  the  thought  of  such  a  liberty. 
His  face  was  parched  and  so  wrinkled  that  the  mere 

68 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

thought  of  his  shaving  made  one  shudder,  and  yet  his 
chin  and  lips  were  always  most  scrupulously  clean. 
His  hair,  brushed  straight  back  from  his  forehead  and 
covering  his  coat-collar,  was  perfectly  white,  and  a 
white  fringe  of  whiskers  bristled  upward  from  his 
neck,  but  his  eyes,  hawklike  in  their  brightness, 
showed  that  he  was  still  mentally  alert  and  vigorous, 
and  his  bearing  was  that  of  a  young  man.  In  a  word, 
Cephas  Dudley  was  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school, 
familiar  with  all  the  rights  and  duties  of  his  pro- 
fession, and  incidentally  acquainted  with  every  trick 
of  the  trade. 

His  Honor  received  me  most  courteously  and  un- 
ceremoniously, but  the  moment  I  stated  my  errand 
he  became  ridiculously  formal.  He  could  not  con- 
sider my  communication  at  all,  he  announced,  except 
in  the  presence  of  counsel,  and  despite  my  earnest 
protests  a  messenger  was  instantly  despatched  to 
hurry  Gilbert  and  Barstow  to  the  Court.  In  the 
mean  time  he  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  the  official 
stenographer  to  attend  and  take  down  every  word 
uttered  by  any  person  during  the  hearing. 

All  this  formality  and  red  tape  annoyed  and  em- 
barrassed me,  and  it  was  some  moments  before  I 
recovered  my  self-possession.  Gilbert's  pleasant 
greeting  when  he  entered  the  room  and  his  informal 
manner  helped  to  place  me  at  my  ease,  but  I  resented 
the  Judge's  absurd  solemnity,  and  the  atmosphere  of 
mystery  and  precaution  with  which  he  invested  the 
simple  business  of  my  resignation. 

69 


THE  ACCOMPLICE 

By  the  time  Barstow  arrived,  however,  I  was 
more  impatient  than  embarrassed,  and  the  mo- 
ment the  Judge  directed  me  to  make  whatever  state- 
ment I  desired  I  hastened  to  explain  that  since  the 
adjournment  of  the  Court  certain  communications 
had  reached  me  which  disqualified  me  from  acting 
further  in  the  case,  and  I  therefore  tendered  my 
resignation  as  a  juror.  I  then  started  to  give  a  de- 
tailed account  of  my  experiences,  but  the  Judge  in- 
stantly cut  me  short. 

"Wait  a  moment,  Mr.  Lambert,"  he  commanded. 
"We  do  not  want  to  know  what  you  heard — at 
least  not  yet.  First  tell  me,  sir,  if  you  have  formed 
any  opinion  of  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  accused." 

"No,  sir.  I  cannot  say  that  I  have,"  I  began; 
"but—" 

"Wait — wait!"  he  interrupted.  "Have  you  learn- 
ed anything  concerning  this  case  of  your  own  knowl- 
edge?" 

"No,  sir,"  I  answered.     "But  I  heard—" 

"Wait — wait!"  he  again  interposed.  "Don't  re- 
peat what  you  heard,  Mr.  Lambert,  but  tell  us 
whether  or  not  it  has  had  such  an  effect  upon  your 
mind  that  you  cannot  render  a  fair  and  impartial 
verdict  in  this  case." 

The  Judge's  repeated  interruptions  were  exasper- 
ating, but  I  swallowed  my  indignation  as  best  I 
could. 

"It  has  made  an  impression  on  my  mind,  Judge 
Dudley,"  I  answered,  with  dignity.  "But  I  will  not 

7o 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

admit  that  it  or  anything  else  could  render  me  in- 
capable of  fairness." 

His  Honor  pushed  back  his  chair  from  the  table 
and  tossed  aside  the  pen-holder  with  which  he  had 
been  threatening  me. 

"Do  you  gentlemen  wish  to  examine  Mr.  Lambert 
any  further?"  he  inquired,  turning  to  the  lawyers. 

"I  do  not,"  answered  Gilbert,  promptly.  "I  be- 
lieve Mr.  Lambert  is  in  every  way  qualified  to  serve 
in  his  present  position." 

I  glanced  at  Barstow,  who  had  been  studying  me 
ever  since  he  entered  the  room,  and  after  our  eyes  met 
he  continued  his  scrutiny  in  absolute  silence.  It  was 
embarrassing  to  be  inspected  in  this  manner,  and  I 
felt  peculiarly  uncomfortable  under  his  searching 
gaze. 

"I  am  not  afraid  to  trust  my  client's  life  to  this 
gentleman,"  he  announced,  at  last,  with  impressive 
solemnity.  "I  believe  him  to  be  both  conscientious 
and  capable,  and  I  am  convinced  that  he  will  do  his 
whole  duty." 

I  was  so  relieved  when  the  man  transferred  his 
eyes  from  my  face  that  I  did  not  immediately  realize 
the  effect  of  his  words.  It  was  Judge  Dudley's  com- 
ment which  roused  me  to  my  danger. 

"I  quite  concur  in  your  opinion,  gentlemen,"  he 
remarked.  "Now,  Mr.  Lambert,  return  to  your 
place  in  the  jury-box,  and  hereafter  do  not  permit 
yourself  to  listen  to  anything  outside  the  court- 
room bearing  directly  or  indirectly  on  this  case." 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

I  heard  this  calm  disposition  of  the  matter  with 
speechless  astonishment  and  indignation. 

"But,  your  Honor,"  I  burst  out,  at  last,  "I  must 
insist  that  my  resignation  be  accepted.  I  could  not 
possibly  consent  to  act  any  longer." 

The  Judge's  white  eyebrows  indicated  surprise, 
but  his  voice  was  very  calm  and  forbearing  as  he 
answered. 

"Your  judgment  of  the  matter  is  not — er — well, 
it  is  not  controlling,  Mr.  Lambert.  In  the  language 
of  diplomacy  this  incident  is  closed." 

"Indeed  it  is  not,  and  cannot  be!"  I  asserted, 
boldly.  "Further  connection  with  this  case  would 
be  exceedingly  embarrassing  for  me,  and — " 

"Long  trials  are  always  embarrassing  for  jurors, 
Mr.  Lambert." 

The  Judge  glanced  smilingly  at  the  listening 
lawyers  as  he  spoke. 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  my  personal  convenience," 
I  retorted,  warmly,  "and  when  you  have  heard  what 
I  have  to  say  you  will  understand — " 

"Now,  Mr.  Lambert,"  interposed  his  Honor,  "I 
have  indulged  you  further  than  perhaps  I  should 
have  after  passing  on  this  matter,  but  I  cannot  allow 
you  to  continue  any  longer.  The  question  has  been 
heard  and  disposed  of,  and  it  will  not  be  reopened. 
I  wish  you  good-morning." 

The  Judge's  protruding  lower  lip,  now  strongly  in 
evidence,  warned  me  to  beware;  but  the  situation 
was  so  desperate  that  nothing  could  intimidate  me. 

72 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"But  I  am  disqualified,  your  Honor!"  I  protested, 
hotly.  "I  am  positively  disqualified,  and  you  have 
no  authority  to  force  me  to  serve  against  my  will." 

My  language  could  scarcely  have  been  more  un- 
fortunate, but  the  old  gentleman  regarded  me  with  a 
really  superb  show  of  dignity  and  reserve. 

"The  question  of  your  qualification  rests  entirely 
with  the  Court,  Mr.  Lambert,"  he  asserted,  calmly, 
"and  it  feels  entirely  equal  to  the  responsibility  of 
its  decision.  I  cannot  discuss  a  question  of  judicial 
authority  with  a  layman.  You  may  now  retire,  sir; 
but  I  caution  you  to  hold  no  communication  with 
any  person  respecting  anything  which  has  passed 
within  this  room.  I  will  open  Court  in  a  few  minutes, 
gentlemen." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke  and  passed  into  a  rear  room, 
leaving  me  standing  mute  with  indignation  and  dis- 
may between  the  opposing  counsel. 

I  could  not  accept  the  situation;  yet,  what  was  I 
to  do?  My  own  rashness  and  folly  were  responsible 
for  my  predicament.  I  had  hotly  asserted  that  I 
could  act  with  fairness  and  impartiality,  but  my 
answer  had  been  given  with  no  thought  of  putting 
myself  to  the  test.  Was  it  possible  for  me  to  remain 
uninfluenced  by  Barbara  Frayne's  interest  in  her 
friend  ? 

Miss  Emory  had  already  made  a  favorable  im- 
pression upon  me,  but  it  was  impossible  to  forget  that 
her  warmest  friend  had  entreated  me  to  retain  my 
place  on  the  jury.  The  mere  knowledge  that  some- 

73 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

thing  was  expected  of  me— that  I  was  relied  upon  for 
help — embarrassed  and  rendered  me  incapable  of 
showing  even  proper  consideration  to  the  prisoner. 
I  could  not  extend  the  slightest  indulgence  to  the  ac- 
cused, under  the  existing  circumstances,  without  sus- 
pecting my  own  motives,  and  erring,  if  at  all,  on  the 
side  of  the  prosecution.  In  a  word,  I  was  the  most 
dangerous  juror  who  confronted  the  accused.  Sup- 
pose I  should  be  forced  to  render  a  verdict  of  guilty  ? 
Could  any  friendship  survive  such  a  blow?  Gilbert 
was  under  a  similar  disadvantage,  but  his  position 
was  different.  He  was  an  official  charged  with  a 
public  duty  and  not  directly  responsible  for  the  ver- 
dict. 

My  thought  stopped  as  a  sudden  suspicion  entered 
my  mind  and  sent  the  hot  blood  rushing  to  my  face. 
Gilbert  was  answerable  for  my  present  predicament! 
He  could  have  obtained  my  release  with  a  single 
word,  and  he  had  not  uttered  it.  He  had  done  more 
than  keep  silent.  He  had  urged  my  retention,  de- 
claring in  positive  terms  that  I  was  qualified  in  every 
respect.  He  knew  of  my  acquaintance  with  Miss 
Frayne,  and  doubtless  had  seen  enough  to  make  him 
seize  the  first  opportunity  to  nip  an  inconvenient 
friendship  in  the  bud.  Was  it  possible,  under  the 
circumstances,  for  me  to  credit  anything  the  man 
said?  Would  I  not  instinctively  refute  his  every 
argument  and  doubt  his  most  convincing  proofs? 
Was  it  not  to  my  interest  to  do  so  ?  If  he  had  as  strong 
a  case  as  he  claimed,  I  would  either  have  to  stultify 

74 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

myself  in  my  own  eyes  or  agree  with  his  contention 
and  end  a  friendship  which  involved  my  own  happi- 
ness. I  was  hopelessly  trapped. 

"You  take  this  thing  far  too  seriously,  Mr.  Lam- 
bert." 

Gilbert  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  as  he  spoke, 
but  I  impatiently  shook  myself  free. 

"We  all  recognize  that  jury-duty  involves  a  good 
deal  of  sacrifice,"  he  continued,  calmly,  "but  I'm 
sure  both  sides  appreciate  having  a  man  of  your 
caliber  in  the  box  as  foreman.  Moreover,  you  can 
rest  assured  that  Brother  Barstow  doesn't  want  me 
to  hear  what  you  learned  about  the  case  if  it's  against 
him,  and  I  certainly  don't  want  him  to  hear  it  if  it's 
against  me.  So  everybody's  satisfied." 

His  jesting  words  were  uttered  with  a  friendly  smile, 
but  they  grated  on  me,  and  I  turned  abruptly  to  the 
door. 

"The  law  isn't  a  game!"  I  asserted,  with  marked 
severity,  but  Gilbert  attempted  to  turn  my  reproof. 

"It's  sort  of  a  game,  isn't  it,  Barstow?"  he  in- 
quired, with  a  comic  expression  of  doubt. 

The  defendant's  counsel  shot  an  angry  glance  at 
his  opponent. 

"You'll  find  it  a  game  that  two  can  play  at!"  he 
retorted,  menacingly,  as  he  brushed  past  us  through 
the  door. 


IX 


HAD  I  known,  as  much  law  at  the  opening  of  the 
Emory  trial  as  I  did  at  its  close  I  would  never 
have  resumed  my  seat  in  the  jury-box,  but  at  the  time 
I  knew  of  no  alternative. 

Moreover,  despite  all  my  exasperation  and  sus- 
picion, I  had  a  guilty  feeling  that  I  had  not  been  en- 
tirely frank  with  the  Court,  for  I  knew  very  well  that 
it  was  not  my  experience  at  the  Shaw  farm-house, 
but  my  acquaintance  with  Barbara  Frayne  which  was 
the  true  source  of  my  embarrassment.  The  conver- 
sations I  had  overheard  had  not  vitally  affected  my 
judgment,  but  the  new  influence  which  had  come 
into  my  life  was  too  powerful  to  be  ignored  and  too 
sacred  to  be  lightly  surrendered.  I  could  not  have 
explained  this,  however,  in  Deake  Gilbert's  presence 
without  making  myself  ridiculous,  but  had  I  done  so 
I  would  doubtless  have  succeeded  in  forcing  my  re- 
lease. Certainly  if  I  had  told  of  Miss  Frayne's  at- 
tempt to  retain  me  on  the  jury  I  would  have  been 
allowed  to  resign,  but  this  disclosure  might  have 
cost  her  something  more  unpleasant  than  ridicule. 

The  court-crier  interrupted  these  conflicting  emo- 
tions as  I  resumed  my  place  in  the  jury-box,  and  the 

76 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

audience  rose  as  Judge  Dudley  entered  the  room  and 
ascended  the  Bench. 

Prior  to  my  Melton  experience  I  had  pictured  the 
Bench  as  a  sort  of  throne  cushioned  and  canopied 
with  stately  magnificence  and  reached  by  a  flight  of 
low,  broad  steps.  And — yes — I  remember  there  was 
always  a  generous  display  of  ermine  draped  carelessly 
in  the  foreground.  Even  the  expression  "elevated 
to  the  Bench  "  had  a  mystical  significance  to  my  mind. 
I  think  possibly  I  associated  it  with  "the  elevation  of 
the  Host,"  but,  anyway,  it  conveyed  the  impression  of 
a  pompous  ceremony  befitting  my  conception  of  the 
judicial  throne. 

But  the  Bench  of  the  Melton  court-house  was 
merely  a  cane-bottomed  swing-chair  placed  before  a 
large  yellow  table-desk  which  rested  on  an  uncar- 
peted  board  platform  six  or  eight  inches  high.  This 
unpretentious  dais  was,  however,  in  entire  keeping 
with  the  court -room  itself,  whose  bare  walls,  omi- 
nously cracked  ceiling,  and  rough,  bare  floor  were  not 
by  any  means  impressive.  Even  the  jury-box  was 
no  box  at  all,  but  merely  a  square  pen,  large  enough 
to  admit  twelve  highly  uncomfortable  chairs  ar- 
ranged in  three  tiers.  This  and  the  rail  guarding  the 
Bench,  two  tables,  some  chairs  for  the  use  of  lawyers, 
and  a  number  of  pewlike  settees  for  the  public, 
comprised  the  furnishings  of  the  Court.  As  a  country 
school-room  it  might  have  passed  muster,  but  as  a 
Hall  of  Justice  it  lacked  something  of  dignity. 

That  something,  however,  was  supplied  by  the 
77 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

presence  of  the  Honorable  Cephas  Dudley.  The 
moment  he  entered,  the  place  was  transformed,  all 
its  meanness  and  cheapness  disappeared,  and  as  he 
stood  behind  the  ugly  yellow  desk  and  bowed  to  the 
public  and  the  Bar,  I  felt  that  the  majesty  of  the 
law  stood  fully  vindicated. 

That  austere  old  gentleman  with  his  protruding 
lower  lip  and  his  rusty  broadcloth  made  me  realize 
for  the  first  time  the  distinction  between  imposed  and 
constituted  authority.  The  pomp  and  trappings  of 
power  might  be  essential  for  the  one,  but  they  were 
wholly  unnecessary  for  the  other.  His  Honor  was 
of  the  people,  chosen  not  to  rule  them  but  to  rule  for 
them,  and  as  an  American  I  then  and  there  confident- 
ly— almost  gladly — submitted  myself  to  his  guidance 
and  authority. 

"Hear  ye!  Hear  ye!  Hear  ye!  All  -  pursons- 
havin'  -  bus'ness  -  with  -  this  -  Trial  -  Term  -  Sup- 
preme  -  C'urt  -  held  -  in  -  an'  -  fer  -  county  -  of  -  Mel- 
ton -  town  -  er  -  Melton  -  draw  -  near  -  an'  -  give  -  yer- 
'tention  -  and  -  yer  -  shall  -  be  -  heard!" 

Gilbert  rose  as  soon  as  the  court-crier  had  gabbled 
his  formula,  and  began  the  day's  proceedings  by 
waiving  the  right  to  continue  his  interrupted  ad- 
dress to  the  jury.  He  had  concluded,  he  explained, 
that  the  outline  of  the  story  already  given  was 
sufficient  to  enable  the  jury  to  follow  the  testimony, 
and  he  would  therefore  proceed  at  once  to  the  ex- 
amination of  witnesses. 

The  Judge  nodded  acquiescently,  and  Barstow  in- 
78 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

stantly  began  another  appeal  for  his  client's  discharge. 
The  facts  disclosed  by  the  prosecutor's  opening 
showed  no  case  against  her,  he  declared;  moreover, 
there  were  technical  flaws  in  the  proceedings  and 
errors  of  omission  and  commission  which  were  fatal 
to  the  further  continuance  of  the  case. 

This  and  much  more  Barstow  submitted  to  the 
Court  with  evident  confidence  and  sincerity.  But 
though  he  supported  his  contention  with  many  legal 
precedents,  and  made  a  long  and  earnest  argument 
upholding  his  position,  I  could  not  see  much  force 
in  anything  he  said.  The  Judge,  however,  listened 
attentively,  and  when  the  last  word  was  spoken  he 
turned  expectantly  to  the  prosecutor. 

"Well,  Mr.  Gilbert,  what  have  you  to  say?"  he 
inquired,  sharply. 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  Gilbert 
rose  slowly,  his  eyes  twinkling  with  amusement. 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,  your  Honor,"  he  answered, 
gravely.  "The  counsel's  argument  is  unanswerable. 
In  fact,  it  reminds  me  of  this  ancient  rhyme: 

"  Let  my  opponents  do  their  worst, 
Still  my  First  Point  is  Point  the  First! 
Which  fully  proves  my  case  because 
All  Statute  Laws  are  Statute  Laws!" 

The  Judge  pounded  the  desk  as  Gilbert  resumed 
his  seat,  but  the  laughter  which  greeted  his  reply 
was  not  easily  repressed,  and  even  when  order  was 
restored  belated  guffaws  broke  out  in  various  parts 

79 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

of  the  court-room.  Finally  his  Honor  denied  the 
motion  for  the  prisoner's  discharge,  and  Barstow,  his 
face  flaming  with  anger,  again  rose  from  his  seat. 

"I  take  an  exception  to  your  Honor's  ruling,"  he 
observed,  "and  I  deplore  the  levity  which  character- 
izes the  prosecutor's  conduct  in  a  matter  of  life  and 
death." 

A  hush  instantly  settled  upon  the  crowded  benches, 
and,  heartily  ashamed  of  my  own  participation  in  the 
mirthful  outburst,  I  felt  a  sudden  admiration  for  the 
man  who  had  so  signally  turned  the  episode  to  his 
own  advantage. 

Then  Gilbert  called  a  witness  to  the  stand  and  the 
fight  was  fairly  on. 

As  I  followed  the  proceedings  of  that  first  eventful 
morning,  the  prosecutor's  jesting  remark  in  the 
Judge's  chambers  frequently  recurred  to  my  mind. 
The  law  was  apparently  very  like  a  game,  and  a  game 
which  not  only  taxed  the  mental  powers  of  the  players 
but  also  demanded  great  physical  strength.  Even 
the  court-room  itself,  crowded  to  its  very  doors,  sug- 
gested an  amphitheatre  whose  audience  watched 
every  movement  of  the  combatants  with  hungry 
interest,  but  with  no  visible  sympathy  for  the  woman 
over  whose  life  the  legal  champions  were  battling. 

Barstow  concentrated  his  gaze  on  the  jury-box  as 
Gilbert  began  the  examination  of  his  first  witness 
and  scarcely  relaxed  his  scrutiny  during  the  entire 
morning.  I  am  certain  I  paid  strict  attention  to  the 
testimony,  but  whenever  my  glance  wandered  from 

80 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

the  witness-stand  my  eyes  invariably  sought  his, 
and  each  time  our  gaze  met  I  was  conscious  of  the 
uncomfortable  sensation  I  had  experienced  in  the 
Judge's  chambers.  At  first  I  gave  it  no  thought, 
but  little  by  little  I  felt  myself  becoming  fascinated 
by  his  steady,  searching  gaze  until  I  suddenly  realized 
that  his  was  the  only  face  I  saw  whenever  I  glanced 
about  me.  Then  it  instantly  flashed  upon  me  that 
the  man  was  attempting  to  subject  me  to  his 
will.  This  discovery  was  disturbing  enough  in 
itself,  but  it  was  nothing  to  the  thoughts  which 
followed  —  coming  like  terrified  whispers  to  my 
mind. 

Was  Barstow  resorting  to  such  measures  because  his 
client  was  guilty  ? — She  must  be  guilty  ! 

I  strove  desperately  to  rid  myself  of  this  conclusion, 
but  it  haunted  me  in  spite  of  my  every  effort,  and  for 
a  few  moments  I  lost  track  of  the  testimony  in  the 
wild  struggle  for  self-mastery.  At  last,  however,  I 
threw  off  the  disturbing  influence  which  had  taken 
possession  of  me  and  regained  my  self-control.  When 
I  next  looked  at  Barstow  he  held  my  glance  no  longer 
than  I  chose. 

My  mental  defiance,  however,  had  no  visible  effect 
on  my  would-be  conqueror. 

He  still  sat  facing  the  jury,  his  heavy  arms  resting 
on  the  table,  his  head  sunk  between  his  massive, 
rounded  shoulders,  his  square  jaw  bristling  with 
its  wiry  red  hairs.  If  he  heard  the  testimony  which 
was  being  given  he  gave  no  indication  of  the  fact,  and 

81 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

witness  after  witness  left  the  stand  without  a  word 
of  cross-examination. 

Plans  of  the  Shaw  farm-house  were  placed  in  evi- 
dence and  submitted  to  the  jury;  the  discovery  of 
Mr.  Shaw's  body  was  described ;  the  condition  of  his 
study,  the  escaping  gas,  the  finding  of  the  rug  stuffed 
up  the  chimney,  and  the  blotting-paper  in  the  key- 
hole and  crevices  were  all  duly  reported  by  competent 
witnesses  without  the  slightest  objection  from  the 
defence.  Even  when  the  Coroner  and  Dr.  MacLean 
testified  that  Mr.  Shaw's  death  was  caused  by  some 
sharp,  slender  instrument  which  had  been  thrust 
into  the  brain  through  the  eyeball,  Barstow  evinced 
no  interest.  It  was  left  for  Judge  Dudley  to  bring 
out  the  fact  that  death  must  have  ensued  before  the 
gas  had  been  turned  on,  but  although  this  inquiry 
seemed  to  offer  a  most  favorable  opportunity  for 
cross-examination,  the  witness  was  allowed  to  re- 
tire with  his  conclusion  wholly  unchallenged. 

Asked  to  describe  the  general  nature  of  the  instru- 
ment with  which  the  fatal  injury  had  been  inflicted, 
Dr.  MacLean  stated  that  it  must  have  been  something 
like  a  hat-pin,  a  fine  skewer,  a  knitting-needle,  or  a 
scarf-pin;  but  just  what  had  been  used  he  could  not 
say. 

A  detective  then  took  the  stand  and  described  his 
professional  examination  of  the  premises  and  his  dis- 
covery that  the  window-pane  had  been  tampered 
with  and  removed.  The  shingle  from  the  veranda 
roof  bearing  the  tell-tale  candle-grease  was  produced 

82 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

for  our  inspection  and  several  hairy  cloth  threads 
adhering  to  the  surface  of  the  wax  were  plainly  visi- 
ble. One  of  these  threads  was  then  extracted  in  our 
presence  and  handed  to  us  on  a  white  card  under  a 
magnifying-glass.  The  color  was  unmistakably  blue. 
Instinctively  I  glanced  at  Barstow  as  this  fact  was 
established,  but  his  expression  indicated  complete 
indifference. 

The  next  exhibit  was  the  window-sash  of  Mr. 
Shaw's  study,  and,  using  it  to  illustrate  his  testi- 
mony, the  detective  showed  us  how  the  pane  of  glass 
had  been  removed  and  replaced  and  how  the  bolt  had 
been  shot  and  the  crevices  stuffed  with  rags  from  the 
outside.  The  same  witness  described  his  search  for 
the  missing  weapon  and  reported  the  discovery  of  a 
loaded  revolver  in  Mr.  Shaw's  desk.  This  had  been 
found  lying  in  an  open  drawer,  with  a  paper  purport- 
ing to  be  the  decedent's  will  made  in  favor  of  his 
wife  Alice.  No  instrument  such  as  the  physicians 
had  mentioned  had  been  found  in  the  study,  but  sev- 
eral hat-pins  and  scarf-pins  were  discovered  in  Miss 
Emory's  room. 

At  the  mention  of  his  client's  name  Barstow  in- 
stantly turned  to  the  witness,  but  when  Gilbert  pro- 
ceeded with  marked  fairness  to  elucidate  the  fact  that 
hat-pins,  hair-pins,  scarf-pins,  and  darning-needles 
had  been  found  in  some  or  all  of  the  women's  rooms, 
he  resumed  his  study  of  the  jury  without  a  word  of 
comment. 

Gradually  the  tactics  of  the  two  men  became  per- 
83 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

fectly  clear  to  my  mind.  The  prosecutor  was  estab- 
lishing his  preliminary  facts  clearly  and  simply, 
avoiding  all  possible  reference  to  the  defendant,  but 
slowly  and  surely  narrowing  the  proofs  by  eliminating 
all  other  inmates  of  the  Shaw  household  from  the 
field  of  suspicion.  And  Barstow,  though  apparently 
indifferent  to  the  testimony,  was  evidently  alive  to 
the  slightest  word  which  threatened  his  client's  in- 
terest. Thus  he  had  allowed  Gilbert  to  prove  Shaw's 
death,  the  cause  of  his  death,  and  the  means  by  which 
it  had  been  effected  without  dispute  or  question. 
There  was  nothing  in  all  this  which  implicated  Alice 
Emory  more  than  any  other  inmate  of  the  farm. 
But  with  these  facts  established  I  realized  that  a 
clash  was  imminent  and  that  the  real  struggle  was 
at  hand. 


O  LOWLY  and  cautiously  Gilbert  developed  his 
O  attack,  and  I  followed  every  movement  with 
undivided  interest.  It  was  evident  that  his  on- 
slaught would  be  fierce  and  rapid  when  it  came,  for 
he  carefully  cleared  the  ground  of  all  obstructions, 
without  unmasking  the  point  from  which  his  as- 
sault would  be  delivered.  Sometimes  his  advance 
almost  touched  the  intrenched  position  confronting 
him,  but  he  never  once  drew  his  adversary's  fire 
or  succeeded  in  feeling  his  hidden  strength.  Time 
and  again  I  felt  that  Barstow  must  sally  forth,  but 
he  remained  quietly  within  his  chosen  lines  eagerly 
watching  and  listening,  but  warily  holding  his  forces 
in  reserve. 

A  younger,  less  experienced  lawyer  could  not  have 
resisted  some  of  the  opportunities  for  cross-examina- 
tion which  Gilbert's  witnesses  afforded.  More  than 
one  had  taken  the  witness-chair  too  frightened  to  tell 
the  truth  even  with  the  gentlest  handling,  and  others 
feeling  their  self-importance  had  obviously  stretched 
the  strict  limits  of  their  knowledge.  It  required  no 
experience  to  see  that  a  cross-examiner  could  have 
discredited  these  witnesses  and  made  a  brilliant  show- 

85 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

ing  at  their  expense,  and,  although  I  knew  it  was  not 
considered  sportsman  -  like  to  "shoot  mackerel  in  a 
barrel,"  I  did  not  understand  why  Barstow  spared 
the  confident  and  conceited.  I  was  yet  to  learn  that 
the  greatest  cross-examiners  ask  the  fewest  questions, 
and  that  the  paths  to  petty  triumphs  are  often  mined 
or  ambushed.  Barstow  evidently  knew  the  danger 
of  unnecessary  questioning,  but  he  was  yet  to  show 
me  that  no  one  could  disregard  it  with  impunity. 

Having  established  the  fact  of  murder,  Gilbert 
proceeded  to  probe  the  history  of  the  deceased  and 
speedily  uncovered  his  criminal  career.  How  the 
man  had  lived  unsuspected  for  more  than  twenty 
years  was  a  mystery  no  one  who  heard  the  story  could 
explain,  but  his  defalcations  were  only  too  apparent 
at  his  death. 

Barstow  did  not  attempt  to  deny  Shaw's  pecula- 
tions, but  was  evidently  ready  to  resist  all  attempts 
to  prove  that  his  client  had  a  guilty  knowledge  of 
them.  At  this  point,  however,  when  every  one  ex- 
pected Gilbert  to  show  that  Miss  Emory  was  familiar 
with  her  employer's  secrets  and  knew  he  had  good 
reasons  for  taking  his  own  life,  the  prosecutor  sud- 
denly shifted  his  ground  and  essayed  to  take  his 
adversary  on  the  flank. 

Recalling  the  architect  by  whom  he  had  originally 
proved  the  plans  of  the  Shaw  farm-house,  he  in- 
quired what  means  of  retreat  were  open  for  any  one 
who  desired  to  escape  from  the  veranda  roof,  assum- 
ing the  study  windows  to  be  bolted. 

86 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

One  way  would  be  to  climb  to  the  roof  of  the  house 
and  descend  through  the  skylight,  the  witness  an- 
swered. That  would  require  a  ladder,  would  it  not  ? 
— It  could  not  be  done  without  a  ladder.  It  would  be 
difficult  with  one.  Because  of  the  projecting  eaves  of 
the  roof? — Yes,  and  because  of  the  steepness  of  the 
veranda  roof,  which  almost  prohibited  the  use  of  a  lad- 
der. Very  well,  what  other  ways  of  escape  remained  ? 
— One  might  jump  to  the  ground,  a  distance  of  twelve 
feet — or  hang  from,  the  edge  of  the  roof  and  drop,  say,  six 
feet.  Were  there  no  supporting-columns  to  this  ve- 
randa roof  which  a  man  might  slide  down?  Not 
practicable  because  of  the  projecting  eaves — eh  ? — 

Were  there  any  other  exits? — Certainly.  If  the 
window  next  to  Mr.  Shaw's  study  was  open  any  one 
could  pass  through  that.  That  window  led  into  whose 
room  ?  The  witness  could  not  say  whose  it  was.  It 
was  marked  "Alice  Emory"  on  the  plan.  There 
were  no  other  practicable  avenues  of  escape. 

"Thank  you.  That  is  all.  Your  witness,  Mr. 
Barstow." 

Gilbert  turned  to  the  counsel's  table,  but  his  ad- 
versary had  already  risen  and  was  waiting  like  a 
hound  in  leash — his  eyes  fixed  fiercely  on  the  witness. 

The  gage  of  battle  had  been  offered  and  ac- 
cepted. 

There  was  a  deathlike  silence  in  the  court -room 
as  the  lawyer  faced  the  occupant  of  the  witness-chair, 
and  in  memory  I  can  still  feel  the  nervous  strain  and 
tension  of  Barstow's  silent  cross-examination.  I 

87 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

had  expected  an  outburst — a  tornado  of  questions 
which  would  sweep  the  witness  from  the  stand  and 
rip  his  testimony  to  pieces.  But  instead  of  the  fury 
of  assault  there  was  the  fearful  comment  of  silence — 
questioning,  accusing,  damning  silence  which  brought 
great  beads  of  perspiration  to  the  victim's  forehead, 
leaving  him  dazed  and  helpless,  and  when  Barstow 
addressed  him  he  almost  collapsed.  But  it  was  the 
mild  tone  of  the  questioner  which  threw  him  off  his 
balance.  He  had  braced  himself  for  a  shock. 

"Are  you  an  athlete,  sir?"  began  the  cross-exam- 
iner. 

"An — an  architect,"  was  the  startled  answer, 
which  evoked  a  ripple  of  laughter  from  the  wrought- 
up  auditors. 

"Are  you  at  all  expert  on  the  horizontal  bar?" 

The  witness  smiled  gratefully  at  his  questioner. 

"Not  at  all,  sir,"  he  responded. 

"Nor  on  the  flying  rings?" 

"No,  sir." 

"You  have  seen  remarkable  feats  of  agility  per 
formed  by  athletes,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  sir — many  times." 

"Feats  which  you  would  have  thought  impossible 
had  you  not  observed  them?" 

"Yes.     Assuredly." 

'  You  do  not  then  regard  as  impossible  of  per- 
formance those  things  which  you  cannot  yourself 
perform?" 

The  witness  beamed  a  genial  disclaimer. 
88 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"By  no  means,"  he  responded;  "not  at  all." 

"Then  why,  my  friend,  with  the  life  of  a  human 
being  depending  on  your  answer,  do  you  seek  to  give 
the  impression  that  no  one  could  escape  from  the 
veranda  roof  of  the  Shaw  house  except  by  passing 
through  this  young  lady's  room?" 

Barstow  swept  his  arm  towards  his  client  as  he 
put  the  question,  but  his  tone  was  appealing  rather 
than  reproachful,  and  the  architect  no  longer  felt 
alarmed. 

"I  did  not  say  no  other  way  was  possible." 

" '  Practicable '  was  what  I  think  you  said,  sir," 
Barstow  asserted,  with  a  swift,  upward  glance.  "  Have 
you  not  seen  much  more  remarkable  feats  than  that 
of  climbing  to  the  roof  of  the  Shaw  house  from  the 
veranda  roof?" 

The  tone  of  the  questioner  should  have  warned 
the  witness,  but  he  received  it  with  an  indulgent 
smile. 

"I  think  so,"  he  answered,  lightly. 

"And  yet  those  feats  were  'practicable'?" 

"Of  course." 

"And  you  have  witnessed  more  marvellous  per- 
formances than  jumping  or  dropping  from  a  height 
of  six  or  even  twelve  feet,  have  you  not?" 

For  the  second  time  the  architect  refused  his  ques- 
tioner's lead. 

"It  could  not  be  done  without  leaving  some  mark 
in  the  flower-beds  below,"  he  asserted,  directly,  to 
the  jury. 

89 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

Barstow  shot  an  angry  glance  at  the  speaker  and 
instantly  changed  his  tone. 

"Did  I  ask  you  anything  about  flower-beds?"  he 
thundered. 

"No,  but—" 

"Did  any  one  ask  you  about  them?" 

"No,  sir.     But—" 

"Are  you  so  anxious  to  convict  this  young  woman 
that  you  volunteer  theories  for  her  destruction?" 

"No,  sir.     Not  at  all,  sir.     I— I— er— " 

The  witness  was  already  in  a  flutter  at  the  fierce 
flurry  of  questions.  But  the  storm  abated  almost 
as  quickly  as  it  had  begun. 

"Well,  sir?" 

The  prompting  words  had  a  magnanimous  and  re- 
assuring sound,  and  the  frightened  architect  cringed 
to  them  wagging  for  favor. 

"I  merely  meant  to  say  that  an  escape  from  the 
veranda  roof  except  by  the  window  would  be  diffi- 
cult," he  answered,  lamely. 

"Difficult  for  you — you  mean." 

"Yes,  sir.     Quite  so.     Precisely." 

"That  is  all." 

Barstow  resumed  his  seat,  and  after  a  few  ques- 
tions from  Gilbert,  calculated  to  cover  his  retreat, 
the  witness  was  about  to  retire  when  I  requested 
the  Court's  permission  to  ask  a  question.  Instantly 
the  Judge  recalled  the  witness  and  an  expectant  hush 
settled  over  the  room,  and  embarrassed  by  the  concen- 
trated attention  I  could  not  immediately  collect  my 

90 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

thoughts.  Finally,  however,  I  recovered  my  self- 
possession  and  requested  the  architect  to  look  at  his 
plan  of  the  Shaw  house. 

"There  is  a  window  in  the  ground -floor  of  the 
kitchen  annex  or  wing  immediately  at  the  right  of 
the  veranda  roof  as  you  face  the  building,  is  there 
not?"  I  asked. 

The  witness  nodded,  but  if  he  deemed  a  silent  an- 
swer sufficient  for  an  inquisitive  juror  he  was  speedily 
disillusioned. 

"Answer  the  question,  Mr.  Witness,"  directed  the 
Judge.  "The  stenographer  cannot  be  expected  to  in- 
terpret dumb-show." 

The  man  flushed  angrily,  and,  answering  in  the 
affirmative,  favored  me  with  a  glance  of  superior- 
ity. 

"If  the  shutters  of  that  ground-floor  window  were 
open,"  I  inquired,  "what  would  be  the  distance  from 
the  edge  of  the  veranda  roof  to  the  edge  of  the  nearest 
kitchen  shutter?" 

The  witness  glanced  at  his  plan  and  calmly  settled 
back  in  his  chair. 

"Really — I  could  not  say,"  he  answered,  in  a 
bored  tone. 

"Why  not?"  I  demanded,  with  rising  resentment. 

"Because  there  are  no  shutters  to  the  kitchen 
window,"  he  retorted,  quickly. 

A  roar  of  laughter  greeted  this  response,  and  my 
face  turned  crimson  as  I  endeavored  to  make  myself 
heard  above  the  thunder  of  the  Judge's  gavel. 
7  91 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"  If  there  are  no  shutters  to  that  window  it  is  not 
right — "  I  began. 

"I  am  not  responsible  for  the  deficiencies  of  the 
house,  sir,"  drawled  the  witness,  and  again  the 
audience  broke  out  in  uncontrollable  delight. 

But  I  was  savagely  aroused,  and  the  moment  order 
was  restored  I  rose  from  my  seat  flaming  with  in- 
dignation. 

"There  are  shutters  to  that  window!"  I  as- 
serted, angrily.  "  I  know  what  I  am  talking 
about!" 

"Now,  now,  Mr.  Lambert!"  interposed  the  Judge. 
"You  mustn't  be  witness  and  examiner  too.  Please 
take  your  seat,  sir.  I  will  settle  this  question. 
Haven't  you  a  photograph  of  the  premises,  Mr. 
Gilbert?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  responded  the  prosecutor,  pulling  out 
a  huge  envelope.  "Here  it  is — I  offer  it  in  evi- 
dence." 

"With  or  without  the  shutters?"  demanded 
Barstow. 

Gilbert  drew  the  exhibit  from  its  envelope  and 
hastily  examined  it. 

"The  window  has  shutters,"  he  admitted,  smiling- 
ly. Instantly  the  audience  burst  into  applause,  and 
never  until  that  moment  did  I  realize  the  exhilara- 
tion of  popular  acclaim. 

I  glanced  gratefully  over  the  room  as  the  Judge 
and  the  attendants  hammered  it  to  order,  and  my 
eyes  suddenly  rested  on  Barbara  Frayne,  her  face 

92 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

radiant  with  approval,  and  I  flushed  with  pride  and 
happiness.  It  was  only  for  one  glad  instant  that  our 
eyes  met,  but  when  I  turned  away  I  knew  that  Bar- 
stow  had  divined  the  secret  of  my  futile  resignation 
from  the  jury. 


XI 


A?  another  time  Barstow's  discovery  would  have 
caused  me  considerable  anxiety  and  alarm,  but 
at  the  moment  of  my  little  triumph  it  seemed  of  no 
importance.  Indeed,  the  final  outcome  of  my  inter- 
vention robbed  it  of  all  satisfaction,  for  Gilbert  speed- 
ily demonstrated  that  no  one  but  an  acrobat  could 
have  swung  himself  down  from  the  veranda  roof  by 
means  of  the  kitchen  window-shutters,  and  the  ques- 
tion I  had  raised  was  thus  met  and  answered.  But 
despite  this  I  felt  that  Barstow  and  I  had,  between  us, 
cast  a  doubt  on  one  of  the  theories  of  the  prosecution 
and  interposed  the  first  effective  check  to  the  ag- 
gressiveness of  its  campaign.  Certainly  the  moral 
effect  was  a  virtual  victory  for  the  defence,  and  it 
was  noticeable  that  Gilbert  proceeded  with  greater 
caution  during  the  remainder  of  the  day. 

Having  once  given  battle,  however,  he  pressed  his 
attack  with  bewildering  rapidity.  Without  yielding 
ground  he  continually  shifted  his  position,  trying  now 
a  flank  and  now  a  frontal  movement,  and  then  sud- 
denly circling  and  assaulting  the  rear.  But  skilful  as 
his  manoeuvres  were,  Barstow's  defence  commanded 
equal  admiration.  Without  the  slightest  indication 

94 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

of  flurry  or  surprise  he  met  the  prosecutor's  rapid  and 
varied  attack  with  counter  demonstrations  and  an 
impenetrable  guard.  Try  as  he  might  to  find  the 
weak  point  in  his  adversary's  line,  Gilbert  could  not 
force  his  way  to  a  vital  spot,  and  the  morning  session 
drew  to  a  close  with  Barstow  in  possession  of  the 
ground  he  had  occupied  at  the  moment  of  actual 
collision. 

The  fact  of  a  murder  had  been  conceded,  and  the 
defendant's  opportunity  to  commit  it  was  not  seri- 
ously disputed,  but  every  attempt  to  prove  that  she 
had  had  any  greater  opportunity  than  other  inmates 
of  the  household  was  strenuously  opposed. 

Gilbert,  however,  was  apparently  satisfied  that  the 
location  of  Miss  Emory's  room  and  the  difficulty  of 
escaping  from  the  veranda  roof  except  through  that 
apartment  supplied  sufficient  proof  of  special  oppor- 
tunity, for  he  did  not  follow  up  this  line  of  attack, 
but  bent  all  his  forces  upon  demonstrating  the  mo- 
tive which  induced  the  commission  of  the  crime. 

His  first  move  met  no  opposition,  and  he  speedily 
showed  that  Miss  Emory  had  been  Mr.  Shaw's  private 
secretary  for  two  years  before  his  death.  Most  of  her 
work,  it  appeared,  had  been  done  at  the  farm,  but 
occasionally  she  had  attended  at  Mr.  Shaw's  office, 
and  taken  exclusive  charge  of  all  his  correspondence. 
Indeed,  it  was  proved  that  the  decedent  wrote  very 
few  letters  except  those  he  dictated  to  Miss  Emory, 
and  his  private  letter-press  books  showed  that  his 
secretary  had  her  hands  full  in  attending  to  his  mail. 

95 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

But  when  the  prosecutor  attempted  to  put  the 
copied  letters  in  evidence,  claiming  that  they  con- 
tained ample  proof  of  Miss  Emory's  knowledge  of  her 
employer's  criminal  career,  Barstow  fought  tooth  and 
nail  against  their  introduction. 

If  such  letters  existed  and  copies  of  them  were 
found  in  the  letter-press  books,  was  it  fair,  he  de- 
manded, to  assume  that  Miss  Emory  had  type- 
written them  or  was  otherwise  familiar  with  their 
contents  ?  When  the  prosecution  produced  a  witness 
who  could  swear  that  he  heard  Shaw  dictate  any  par- 
ticular letter  to  the  defendant,  then  she  could  be 
charged  with  a  knowledge  of  its  contents.  But  not 
till  then.  If  it  could  be  proved  that  she  had  read 
any  designated  letter  it  might  be  received  in  evidence 
against  her.  But  the  mere  fact  that  a  letter-press 
book  had  been  found  among  the  decedent's  papers 
was  no  proof  of  the  defendant's  guilty  knowledge  of 
its  contents. 

Barstow  made  his  argument  with  convincing  ear- 
nestness, and  the  Judge  promptly  sustained  his  ob- 
jections. 

The  decision  had  no  sooner  been  recorded  than 
Gilbert  wheeled  about,  and  with  a  sudden  rush  al- 
most drove  his  opponent  from  the  field. 

A  witness  was  placed  on  the  stand  who  speedily 
qualified  as  one  familiar  with  the  defendant's  hand- 
writing, having  frequently  received  letters  from  her 
and  having  seen  her  write.  This  fact  established, 
Gilbert  instantly  offered  one  of  the  copied  letters 

96 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"  for  identification,"  and  handed  it  to  the  stenographer 
who  marked  it  with  his  initials  and  the  date. 

At  this  point  Barstow  rose  and  stood  near  the  rail, 
his  muscular  hands  twitching  nervously  and  his 
eyes  watching  every  movement  of  the  enemy,  as 
men  behind  trenches  await  the  moment  of  final  as- 
sault and  hand-to-hand  encounter.  But  he  uttered 
no  word  of  objection  to  Gilbert's  preliminary  proofs. 
Even  when  the  witness  was  asked  if  he  recognized 
the  handwriting  of  certain  words  written  in  pen 
and  ink  on  the  page  bearing  the  identifying  marks,  he 
was  allowed  to  answer  in  the  affirmative,  but  before 
he  could  say  whose  handwriting  it  was  Barstow 
stopped  him  with  a  protesting  roar.  He  must  be 
allowed  to  cross-examine  the  witness,  he  declared, 
before  another  word  was  spoken.  This  line  of  testi- 
mony had  gone  quite  far  enough! 

The  defendant's  counsel  had  gone  too  far,  Gilbert 
retorted,  warmly.  No  trick  of  interruption  should 
be  allowed  to  prevail  at  such  a  crisis! 

"Trick!" 

Barstow  hurled  the  word  at  his  opponent,  and  a 
rapid  interchange  of  retorts  followed  which  did  not 
cease  until  Judge  Dudley  thundered  the  combatants 
from  the  floor.  But  the  clash  at  close  quarters  had 
aroused  the  fighting  blood  of  both  antagonists,  and 
Barstow's  argument  became  a  running  fight,  sav- 
agely maintained  until  he  carried  his  point  and 
gained  the  cover  of  a  favorable  decision. 

If  there  was  reasonable  doubt  of  the  witness's  fa- 
97 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

miliarity  with  the  disputed  writing  it  should  be  re- 
moved before  he  was  allowed  to  testify  further, 
announced  the  Judge.  The  defendant's  counsel  must 
be  allowed  to  cross-examine  on  this  point. 

With  a  glance  of  triumph  at  his  opponent  Barstow 
faced  the  witness  with  grim  determination. 

"How  many  words  in  the  copy  of  the  letter  you 
hold  before  you  are  written  with  pen  and  ink?"  he 
demanded. 

The  witness  counted  them,  touching  each  word 
with  his  forefinger  as  he  scanned  the  page. 

"Six,"  he  answered. 

"How  many  words  are  there  in  the  entire  letter?" 
pursued  Barstow,  turning  to  the  jury  as  he  put  the 
question. 

The  witness  made  another  calculation. 

"About  one  hundred  and  thirty,"  he  replied. 

"The  words  which  are  not  in  pen  and  ink  are 
type-written,  are  they  not?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  say  you  recognize  the  handwriting  of  the 
six  pen-and-ink  words — -have  you  ever  previously 
seen  any  of  the  same  handwriting  after  it  had  been 
copied  in  a  letter-press?" 

"No,  sir." 

"That  is  to  say,  this  is  the  first  specimen  you  have 
ever  seen  as  it  appears  in  a  letter-press  copy?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Is  the  formation  of  the  copied  words  perfect  to 
your  eye?" 

98 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"No — some  of  them  are  blurred." 

"Indeed?     What  do  you  mean  by  blurred?" 

"The  ink  has  run  or  spread." 

"Is  the  formation  of  any  letter  of  the  six  words 
blotted  out  entirely  by  the  spreading  of  the  ink?" 

"Yes,  sir — several  letters  are  obliterated." 

"And  do  you  mean  to  tell  us  that  you  are  ready 
to  swear,  on  the  evidence  of  those  six  partly-obliterated 
words,  who  wrote  them?" 

The  witness  hesitated  for  an  instant. 

"I  think  I  know,"  he  answered,  firmly. 

"You  are  not  asked  to  trifle  with  a  human  life  by 
guessing,  sir!  You  are  asked  for  positive  knowledge! 
Don't  beat  about  the  bush,  man!  Are  you  prepared, 
never  having  seen  a  press-copy  of  Miss  Emory's  writ- 
ing, to  swear  she  wrote  those  six  blurred  words?" 

The  man  turned  in  his  chair  and  looked  appealingly 
at  the  Judge. 

"I  could  not  say  positively  who  wrote  them,  your 
Honor,"  he  admitted. 

With  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  Gilbert  permitted 
the  witness  to  retire,  and  the  spectators  buzzed  and 
rustled  their  relief. 

But  though  the  prosecutor  had  failed  to  pierce 
his  adversary's  line  he  had  produced  an  unmistakable 
effect  upon  the  jury.  I,  for  one,  was  firmly  convinced 
that  the  defendant  had  made  the  disputed  pen-and- 
ink  corrections  in  the  type-written  letter,  and  that  the 
letter  itself  contained  facts  which  charged  her  with 
knowledge  of  her  employer's  crime. 

99 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

I  stole  a  glance  at  Barbara  Frayne,  but  turned 
away  with  a  sinking  heart  as  I  noted  her  jubilant 
expression. 

Gilbert  must  have  been  conscious  of  the  effect  he 
had  produced,  for  he  launched  out  on  a  new  attack 
with  fresh  confidence  and  zeal. 

Producing  the  paper  alleged  to  be  the  will  be- 
queathing Shaw's  entire  estate  "to  his  wife  Alice," 
he  proceeded  to  show  the  document  a  forgery.  Miss 
Emory's  type-writer  was  placed  in  evidence,  and  it 
was  shown  that  all  but  the  signatures  to  the  will 
might  have  been  produced  on  the  machine.  Barstow 
nullified  this  inference  by  the  manufacturer's  records 
showing  thousands  of  similar  instruments  in  daily 
use.  The  paper  on  which  the  will  was  written  was 
then  shown  to  be  of  the  style  and  quality  used  by 
the  defendant  in  her  work  as  secretary,  and  samples 
of  the  same  material,  found  in  her  desk,  were  placed 
in  evidence.  Again  Barstow's  questions  showed  that 
millions  of  such  sheets  were  in  daily  use  and  were 
purchasable  everywhere. 

Finally  Gilbert  placed  one  of  the  two  witnesses  to 
the  will  on  the  stand,  and  Barstow  instantly  closed 
with  his  adversary  for  a  struggle  to  the  death. 

First  he  demanded  that  the  other  witness  to  the 
will,  and  all  other  persons  who  were  to  testify  directly 
or  indirectly  on  the  subject  of  forgery,  should  be  ex- 
cluded from  the  room  until  their  testimony  was  need- 
ed. This  request  having  been  granted  by  the  Court, 
Barstow  insisted  that  the  excluded  witnesses  be 

100 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

placed  in  charge  of  an  officer  and  forbidden  to  com- 
municate with  one  another  or  with  outsiders  until 
they  had  given  their  testimony  on  the  stand.  Judge 
Dudley  declined  to  accede  to  this,  and  his  refusal 
met  with  a  gruffly  voiced  "Exception!" 

All  these  precautions  and  preparations  warned  me 
that  Barstow  regarded  the  coming  testimony  as  of 
vital  importance,  and  I  then  remembered  that  Gil- 
bert had  claimed  that  it  was  Shaw's  discovery  of  the 
forged  will  which  led  to  the  commission  of  the  crime. 
Plainly,  then,  the  whole  theory  of  the  prosecution 
rested  upon  proving  the  document  a  forgery.  A 
battle-royal  was  in  sight. 

The  witness  first  upon  the  stand  examined  the 
paper  which  Gilbert  handed  him,  glanced  at  his  name 
written  at  the  bottom,  and  pronounced  the  signature 
to  be  an  imitation  or  possibly  a  tracing  of  his  own. 
He  had  never  witnessed  this  will  or  any  other,  he  de- 
clared, and  did  not  know  that  Mr.  Shaw  had  made 
one. 

His  answers  were  brief,  positive,  unhesitating,  and 
convincing.  But  if  he  expected  his  unqualified  state- 
ments to  pass  unchallenged  he  reckoned  without  Bar- 
stow,  and  when  he  retired  ten  minutes  later  he  left 
the  stand  an  utterly  discredited  man. 

Cross-examination  made  short  work  of  his  positive 
assertions  and  rendered  his  testimony  almost  worth- 
less. Forced  to  admit  that  he  had  signed  his  name 
to  all  sorts  of  papers  at  Mr.  Shaw's  request,  he  could 
not  remember  any  particular  paper  which  he  had  at- 

101 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

tested,  and  was  unable  to  point  out  any  convincing 
differences  between  his  signature  as  it  appeared  on 
the  will  and  those  he  admitted  as  genuine.  Finally 
he  confessed  that  he  might  have  signed  the  will,  but 
had  no  recollection  of  doing  so. 

The  second  witness  fared  even  worse,  and  under 
Barstow's  rapid  questioning  he  lost  all  confidence  in 
himself  and  volunteered  the  suggestion  that  he  might 
have  signed  the  will  with  a  lot  of  other  papers,  but 
if  he  had  the  matter  had  passed  from  his  mind. 

Not  in  the  least  disconcerted  by  the,  collapse  of 
his  chief  witnesses,  the  prosecutor  promptly  called 
the  paying  teller  of  Mr.  Shaw's  bank,  and  after 
showing  his  familiarity  with  the  signature  of  the  de- 
ceased asked  him  if,  in  his  opinion,  the  name  Gregory 
Shaw  subscribed  to  the  will  had  been  written  by  the 
murdered  man.  The  answer  was  a  positive  and  un- 
qualified assertion  that  the  signature  was  forged. 

A  deathlike  silence  prevailed  in  the  court -room 
as  Barstow  rose  to  cross-examine.  If  the  questions 
and  answers  had  been  whispered  every  word  would 
have  been  heard  in  the  farthest  corner  of  the  room. 

"You  say  you  have  paid  out  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  dollars  on  Mr.  Shaw's  signature  in  the 
past  three  years?" 

Had  the  bank  official  witnessed  the  discomfiture 
of  his  predecessors  he  might  have  taken  warning  from 
Barstow's  quiet  manner,  but  he  met  the  cross-ex- 
aminer's scrutiny  with  a  look  of  equal  determination 
as  he  answered: 

102 


"A  great  many  thousands — yes,  sir." 

Barstow  paused,  and  his  eyes  sought  the  floor  as 
he  framed  the  next  question. 

"Mr.  Shaw's  signature  is  one  which  could  be  easily 
imitated,  is  it  not?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  sir.  It  would  be  exceedingly  difficult  to 
imitate." 

Again  the  cross-examiner  paused  with  downcast 
eyes  as  though  disconcerted  by  the  answer. 

"  So  that  you  think  you  could  detect  any  imitation 
no  matter  how  clever  the  forger  might  be  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Barstow  suddenly  looked  up. 

"Did  you  ever  refuse  to  honor  any  check  of  Mr. 
Shaw's  in  his  lifetime  because  you  doubted  the  signa- 
ture?" he  demanded. 

The  witness  hesitated. 

"If  you  will  permit  me  to  explain — "  he  began. 

But  Barstow  was  at  him  like  a  tiger. 

"Answer  the  question!"  he  thundered.  "Did  you 
ever  refuse  to  pay  any  check  of  Mr.  Shaw's  because 
you  doubted  the  signature?  Answer  yes  or  no!" 

The  bank  teller  glanced  appealingly  at  the  Judge, 
but  received  no  consolation  from  his  Honor's  im- 
passive stare. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Did  you  refuse  to  honor  more  than  one  such 
check?" 

The  question  flew  at  the  witness  before  he  could 
add  another  word. 

103 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"It  happened  several  times — I  don't  remember 
how  often." 

Barstow  stepped  back,  his  face  flushed  with  tri- 
umph, and  his  finger  shot  out  at  the  witness's  face. 

"Now,  sir!"  he  demanded.  "Were  any  of  those 
signatures  which  you  doubted  subsequently  acknowl- 
edged by  Shaw  as  correct  T ' 

The  witness  colored  angrily. 

"Mr.  Shaw  assumed  responsibility  for  those 
checks,"  he  answered. 

"All  of  them?" 

"All  of  them." 

"And  yet  you  are  ready  to  swear  his  will  is  a  forgery! 
That  is  all,  sir!  That  is  all!" 

There  was  an  excited  rustle  and  stir  in  the  au- 
dience as  the  cross  -  examiner  took  his  seat,  and 
some  overwrought  individual  shouted,  "Bravo,  Bar- 
stow!" 

Instantly  applause  burst  out  from  all  sides  of  the 
room,  and  for  some  moments  the  popular  feeling 
carried  all  before  it.  The  prosecutor's  case  was 
clearly  falling  to  pieces  and  the  sympathetic  audi- 
ence was  beyond  control. 

At  last  the  Judge,  having  hammered  his  desk  in 
vain,  rose  to  his  feet  and  threatened  to  clear  the 
benches. 

During  the  confusion  Gilbert  stood  by  his  chair 
waiting  for  the  audience  to  settle  down,  and  then 
suddenly  stilled  it  to  breathlessness  with  a  question 
of  fearful  import. 

104 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"Do  you  recall  to  whom  those  suspicious  checks 
of  Mr.  Shaw's  were  made  payable?"  he  demanded. 

"  Yes,  sir.  Every  one  of  them  was  drawn  to  the 
order  oj  Alice  Emory — ike  prisoner  at  the  bar!" 

The  witness  shot  the  words  directly  at  Barstow, 
and  his  voice  had  a  defiant  ring.  Instantly  the 
situation  was  changed.  In  the  moment  of  its  triumph 
the  defence  had  received  its  heaviest  blow. 

The  answer  fairly  staggered  me,  and  even  when 
the  Judge  adjourned  court  and  dismissed  us  for  the 
day  I  remained  seated  while  my  fellow-jurors  hur- 
ried from  the  box.  As  I  rose  to  follow  them,  how- 
ever, I  noticed  a  woman  pushing  towards  the  prisoner, 
to  whom  Barstow  was  apparently  whispering.  As 
she  neared  the  table  she  addressed  the  lawyer,  and  a 
rapid  interchange  of  words  followed.  Then,  suddenly, 
she  raised  her  voice,  and  I  recognized  the  housekeeper, 
Madeleine  Mapes. 

"Not  if  she's  ill!"  she  insisted.  "Are  you  well, 
dearie?"  she  whispered,  peering  over  Barstow's 
screening  shoulder.  Then  she  drew  back  with  a  look 
of  alarm. 

"My  God,  man!     Is  she  dead?"  she  gasped. 

If  ever  I  saw  murder  in  a  face  I  saw  it  in  Barstow's 
as  he  turned  and  savagely  pushed  the  woman  into  a 
chair. 

"Shut  up!  You — fool!"  he  rasped.  "She's  only 
fainted!" 


xir 

I  HAVE  always  admired  the  ease  with  which  busi- 
ness men  lay  aside  their  cares,  but  the  rapidity 
with  which  my  fellow  -  jurors  shifted  their  grave 
responsibilities  amazed  and  shocked  me.  Indeed, 
they  no  sooner  passed  the  threshold  of  the  court  than 
they  apparently  forgot  the  serious  duty  resting  upon 
them  and  began  acting  like  a  lot  of  school-boys  at 
recess  houf.  The  transition  was  too  abrupt  for  me, 
and  by  the  time  we  sat  down  to  supper  at  the  Melton 
House  I  found  myself  mentally  estranged  from  my 
companions. 

Men  of  a  certain  type  fraternize  at  the  slightest 
possible  provocation.  I  remember  when  the  Teu- 
tonic made  her  record  trip  across  the  Atlantic  I  was 
urgently  invited  to  become  a  "Teuton,"  and  many 
of  my  fellow-passengers  were  inclined  to  be  offended 
because  I  did  not  feel  moved  to  fall  upon  their  necks 
and  swear  eternal  friendship  for  all  brother  "Teu- 
tons," but  I  have  never  experienced  the  slightest 
response  to  clanship  of  this  quality,  and  I  would 
rather  be  considered  snobbish  than  lose  my  self- 
respect. 

The  Emory  jurors,  however,  were  just  the  sort  of 
106 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

men  of  whom  "Teutons"  are  made,  and  they  lost  no 
time  in  assuring  me  that  I'd  miss  a  lot  of  fun  if  I 
took  myself  too  seriously.  Fun!  Fun  at  a  murder 
trial! 

Of  course  flippancy  of  this  sort  was  unworthy  of 
any  response,  and  I  received  it  with  a  dignified  silence 
and  a  glance  of  disapproval  well  calculated  to  carry 
its  intended  rebuke;  but  just  as  I  was  congratulating 
myself  at  having  administered  a  sorely  -  needed  re- 
proof a  voice  at  the  far  end  of  the  table  advised  me 
"to  come  off  my  high  perch  and  hop  about  with  the 
rest  of  the  cage  for  my  health's  sake,"  and  this  was 
followed  by  a  promise  that  the  rest  of  the  jury  would 
try  to  forget  my  high  official  position  and  treat  me 
like  an  ordinary  man  if  I'd  "take  the  starch  out  of 
my  neck." 

The  boisterous  laughter  which  greeted  these  clown- 
ish utterances  angered  me,  and  I  was  on  the  point, 
of  expressing  my  opinion  of  the  company  in  no 
uncertain  terms  when  Theodore  Bayne  urged  the 
others  "to  save  their  hot  air  and  let  the  foreman 
thaw  out  by  himself." 

I  do  not  remember  whether  this  was  the  first  men- 
tion of  my  official  title  or  not,  but  from  that  moment 
I  became  "the  foreman"  to  all  directly  or  indirectly 
concerned  in  the  Emory  case,  and  the  jurors  promptly 
organized  themselves  into  "The  Chain  Gang,"  each 
member  exchanging  his  own  name  for  the  number 
of  his  seat  in  the  jury-box. 

Bayne,  as  "No.  2,"  was  the  leading  spirit  in  all  this 
s  107 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

nonsense,  and  it  was  impossible  to  squelch  him,  for 
he  received  every  rebuff  with  a  smiling  countenance 
while  he  devised  some  other  and  more  tactful  method 
of  approach.  I  have  since  learned  that  it  was  he  who 
made  the  jurors  stand  solemnly  behind  their  chairs 
until  I  took  my  place  at  table,  and  signalled  them  to 
their  feet  when  I  rose,  in  deference,  he  explained,  to 
my  high  official  station ;  and  I  will  now  confess  that 
the  little  influence  which  I  afterwards  came  to  exert 
upon  my  fellow- jurors  was  due  to  his  tact  and  tactics. 
Although  the  restrictions  which  the  Court  had 
placed  upon  our  movements  suggested  the  title 
"Chain  Gang,"  I  am  inclined  to  believe  we  were  ac- 
corded more  liberty  than  is  usual  in  important  crim- 
inal cases.  It  is  within  the  province  of  a  judge,  I 
understand,  to  keep  the  jurors  together  in  charge  of 
a  court-officer,  and  not  allow  them  to  communicate 
with  the  outside  world  at  all  during  the  continuance 
of  a  trial.  The  only  restrictions  placed  upon  us, 
however,  were  that  we  should  not  disperse  to  our 
respective  homes  without  the  express  permission  of 
the  Court  and  that  we  should  not  talk  about  the  case 
or  listen  to  any  conversation  concerning  it.  This  last 
rule  made  trouble  for  us  from  the  very  start,  for  the 
case  was  being  discussed  on  all  sides,  and  there  was 
no  apparent  disposition  in  the  Melton  House  to 
change  the  subject  when  we  made  our  first  appearance 
in  the  office,  until  Bayne  sang  out,  "Fen  talking 
about  the  foreman's  case,  boys,  and  let's  be  sociable!" 
and  the  laugh  which  greeted  this  warning  not  only 

108 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

released  us  from  further  embarrassment  but  served 
as  a  general  introduction,  and  jurors,  witnesses, 
lawyers,  and  miscellaneous  guests  of  the  hotel  were 
soon  seated  around  the  big  stove  exchanging  stories 
and  experiences  with  all  the  zest  and  interest  of  life- 
long friends. 

I  hovered  on  the  outside  of  this  charmed  circle  for 
half  an  hour,  and  then,  remembering  that  I  had  left 
Hefryville  without  making  any  provision  for  staying 
the  night  away  from  home,  I  slipped  out  to  telephone 
my  housekeeper  and  advise  her  of  my  needs. 

The  nearest  public  pay-station  was  at  the  railroad 
depot,  the  hotel  clerk  informed  me,  and  as  I  walked 
in  the  direction  indicated  my  mind  reverted  to  the 
closing  scene  in  the  court-room. 

I  had  been  surprised  that  Barstow  had  permitted 
an  adjournment  without  at  least  attempting  to  offset 
the  damaging  testimony  which  had  been  drawn  from 
the  last  witness,  but  his  fierce  colloquy  with  Miss 
Mapes  had  supplied  a  startling  explanation.  Doubt- 
less he  had  endeavored  to  conceal  the  defendant's 
collapse  under  cover  of  a  hasty  adjournment,  and  had 
it  not  been  for  the  housekeeper's  interference  he 
would  have  succeeded  in  accomplishing  his  object. 
Even  as  it  was  I  doubted  if  any  other  juror  knew  of 
the  defendant's  condition,  and  the  ugly  significance 
of  that  fact  was  therefore  reserved  for  me  alone. 

But  disquieted  as  I  was  by  this  unpleasant  knowl- 
edge, the  presence  of  Madeleine  Mapes  caused  me  in- 
finitely more  anxiety  and  alarm.  The  moment  I 

109 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

saw  the  woman  I  realized  what  her  appearance  on 
the  witness-stand  might  involve.  She  was  evidently 
one  of  those  well-meaning,  meddlesome  women  whose 
over-anxiety  would  menace  any  cause  if  it  did  not 
ruin  it.  With  the  best  possible  intentions  it  was 
probable  that  she  would  prove  a  miserable  witness 
for  the  defence,  making  indiscreet  admissions  and 
over-zealous  denials  which  days  of  contradiction  might 
not  cure.  Certainly  she  and  the  Field  woman  between 
them  were  capable  of  making  a  monstrous  mess  of  the 
best-laid  plans,  and  I  did  not  blame  Barstow  for  his 
anger  and  disgust.  Moreover,  if  these  women  took 
the  stand  I  might  be  compelled  to  question  them 
upon  what  I  had  overheard  at  the  farm-house,  and 
this  would  entail  embarrassment  for  me,  even  if  it  did 
not  damage  the  accused.  I  had  earnestly  hoped  that 
they  had  taken  Barstow's  advice  and  left  the  State, 
and  their  reappearance  on  the  scene  renewed  all  my 
former  anxiety. 

Suppose  they  testified  and  were  allowed  to  leave 
the  witness-chair  without  explaining  the  conversa- 
tion which  had  passed  between  them  in  my  presence. 
Was  I  in  honor  bound  to  call  for  testimony  which 
the  lawyers  had  not  touched  upon  ? 

Again  and  again  I  resolved  not  to  cross  this  bridge 
until  I  came  to  it,  but  every  turn  of  my  mind  brought 
me  back  to  the  perilous  starting-point. 

I  had  never  set  foot  in  the  Melton  railway  station 
until  I  entered  it  for  the  purpose  of  using  the  tele- 
phone, and  I  was  therefore  somewhat  surprised  to 

no 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

hear  the  ticket  agent — an  old  Uncle  Sam  of  a  man — 
address  me  by  name  the  moment  I  appeared  in  the 
doorway. 

" Good-evenin' ,  Mr.  Lambert,"  he  began.  "I  was 
jest  a-sendin'  a  message  up  to  you." 

"A  message  to  me?"  I  repeated.  "How  do  you 
know  it  was  for  me?" 

"W-a-11,  of  course,  I  don't  actually  know  it,"  he 
drawled,  "but  the  party  asked  for  James  Lambert, 
and  as  you  are  the  only  Lambert  in  town  I  guessed 
you  must  be  James." 

"You  guessed  right,"  I  answered,  smilingly, 
"though  I  don't  yet  understand  how  you  knew  me  or 
any  part  of  my  name." 

"I  seen  you  to  the  court-house  this  afternoon, 
and  I  asked  who  you  was  when  you  began  devilin' 
the  architect  feller,"  he  explained. 

"I  see,"  I  interposed,  hastily,  for  I  had  no  inten- 
tion of  allowing  him  to  talk  about  the  Emory  case. 
"What  was  the  message  you  spoke  of?" 

The  man  poked  among  the  papers  on  his  desk  and 
finally  uncovered  a  memorandum  pencilled  on  the 
back  of  a  bill.  Then  he  calmly  adjusted  his  spec- 
tacles, and  carrying  the  paper  to  the  nearest  light 
peered  closely  at  its  contents. 

'"Telephone  22  Pollicet  as  soon  as  you  kin,'"  he 
read,  at  last. 

"Telephone  whom?"  I  inquired. 

"Twenty-two  Pollicet,"  he  repeated.  "The  lady 
didn't  give  no  other  name,"  he  added,  with  a  grin. 

in 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"I  don't  know  anybody — "  I  began,  and  then 
paused  as  a  sudden  thought  struck  me.  "Why,  of 
course!"  I  continued,  hurriedly.  "My  housekeeper 
must  have  thought  of  telephoning  me  as  I  was  about 
to  ring  her  up.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  call  her 
for  me?" 

The  old  man  looked  at  me  with  a  quizzical  glance. 

"At  22  Pollicet?"  he  inquired. 

"That's  the  number,  isn't  it?"  I  responded,  in- 
differently. 

"Yes,  sir;  but  I  hearn  you  was  from  Hefryville, 
and  I  was  thinking  Pollicet  was  sorter  'round  'bout 
for  your  house — 

"We  frequently  use  the  Pollicet  central,"  I  in- 
terrupted. "Kindly  call  it  up — will  you?" 

Uncle  Sam  wiped  away  a  smile  with  a  slow  move- 
ment of  his  hand  and  leisurely  turned  to  the  telephone- 
booth. 

At  the  first  mention  of  Pollicet  I  had  naturally 
thought  of  Barbara  Frayne,  and  I  could  see  that  the 
station  agent  doubted  my  explanation  of  the  call. 
As  he  already  knew  my  name  and  address,  it  might 
easily  be  that  he  was  informed  of  my  visits  to  "  Heath- 
ercote."  But  though  it  might  be  difficult  to  hide 
anything  from  this  country-side,  I  determined  not  to 
gratify  the  village  curiosity  any  further  than  was 
absolutely  necessary.  The  old  railroad  gossip  had 
forced  me  to  invent  the  housekeeper  explanation. 
He  would  have  to  be  satisfied  with  that.  I  did  not 
propose  to  enlighten  him  further. 

112 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"Is  this' 22  Pollicet?" 

I  turned  to  the  telephone-booth  as  I  caught  the 
inquiry,  but  before  I  reached  it  I  heard  the  agent 
calmly  drawl  another  question. 

"Is  this  the  housekeeper?" 

Inwardly  raging  at  the  fellow's  impertinent  curi- 
osity, I  pulled  open  the  door  of  the  cabinet,  but  before 
I  could  express  my  indignation  the  old  man  rose  and 
made  way  for  me. 

"It's  your  housekeeper  all  right,"  he  announced, 
in  an  aggrieved  tone,  as  he  handed  me  the  receiver. 

The  information  doubtless  disappointed  him,  but 
it  fairly  amazed  me.  I  had  never  had  the  slightest 
idea  that  the  person  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  was 
my  housekeeper,  and  my  suggestion  had  been  in- 
tended merely  as  a  sop  to  curiosity.  I  knew  no  one 
in  Pollicet  except  Miss  Frayne,  and  I  confidently 
expected  to  find  her  at  the  other  end  of  the  line. 
How  my  housekeeper  happened  to  be  there  was  a 
mystery. 

I  closed  the  door  of  the  cabinet  and  put  the  re- 
ceiver to  my  ear. 

"Well?"  I  queried. 

"Do  you  know  who  I  am?"  answered  a  voice 
which  was  not  my  housekeeper's. 

"Indeed  I  do!"  I  responded,  joyfully. 

"Well,  the  operator  doesn't.  He  thinks  I'm  your 
housekeeper,  and  I  let  the  old  gossip  think  so.  I 
called  you  up  to  thank  you  for  the  stand  you  took 
in  court  to-day.  You  did  splendidly.  Better  than 

"3 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

the  lawyers.  You  were  on  the  right  track,  too.  No 
— please  don't  interrupt  me!  I've  only  a  word  or 
two  to  say.  But  I  want  to  tell  you  something — 

"Pardon  me!"  I  interrupted.     "You  must  not — " 

"Mustn't  talk  with  you  about  the  case?  I  know, 
but—" 

"If  you've  anything  to  tell,  tell  it  to  the  lawyer," 
I  exclaimed.  "I  can't  and  won't  listen!" 

"Well,  he  won't  listen,  either.  I've  told  him 
Alice  didn't  occupy  her  room  that  night,  but  he  won't 
let  me  say  so  even  though  I  know  who  did." 

"Who  did?" 

The  question  burst  from  me  involuntarily. 

"I  did." 

"You!" 

The  receiver  dropped  from  my  hand  and  crashed 
noisily  against  the  table,  disconnecting  the  wire  as 
it  fell.  For  some  time  I  sat  dazed  and  motionless,  and 
when  at  last  I  turned  to  open  the  door  I  saw  the 
station  agent  watching  me,  his  face  pressed  closely 
against  the  glass. 


XIII 

I  DO  not  remember  what  explanation  I  gave  for 
calling  up  Hefryville  and  giving  the  necessary 
instructions  for  the  packing  and  forwarding  of  my 
bag,  but  I  know  I  escaped  from  the  station  without 
further  questioning,  and  started  back  to  the  hotel 
more  puzzled  and  troubled  than  I  had  been  at  any 
time  since  the  opening  of  the  trial. 

In  the  first  place,  I  could  not  reconcile  Miss  Frayne's 
words  and  actions  with  her  attitude  of  the  preceding 
evening.  She  had  apparently  appreciated  the  deli- 
cacy of  my  position  and  the  proprieties  of  the  occa- 
sion the  moment  the  situation  had  been  explained 
to  her,  and  what  had  occurred  since  should  have 
absolutely  sealed  her  lips.  If  I  had  been  unwilling 
to  hear  anything  concerning  the  case  when  I  was  con- 
fident of  being  released  from  all  connection  with  it, 
she  must  have  known  I  could  not  receive  private  in- 
formation under  the  existing  circumstances.  Had 
she  merely  telephoned  to  express  her  satisfaction  at 
my  remaining  on  the  jury  or  to  comment  on  my  part 
in  the  proceedings  she  would  have  been  guilty  of  a 
grave  breach  of  decorum.  But  to  force  her  confi- 
dences upon  me  against  my  protest  was  almost  un- 

"5 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

pardonable.  Worst  of  all,  her  communication  could 
not  possibly  be  ignored  or  forgotten.  If  true,  it 
vitally  affected  the  case,  and  I  had  not  the  slightest 
doubt  of  its  truth.  No  one  would  make  such  a  state- 
ment unless  it  was  susceptible  of  proof.  It  not  only 
involved  her  in  the  case — it  opened  her  to  suspicion 
and  unthinkable  possibilities. 

Why  had  Barstow  acted  as  though  he  were  igno- 
rant of  the  facts  ?  If  he  knew  that  Alice  Emory  had 
not  occupied  her  room  on  the  night  of  the  murder, 
why  had  he  allowed  Gilbert  to  spend  a  whole  morn- 
ing in  accumulating  testimony  based  upon  the  sup- 
position that  she  and  no  other  could  have  passed 
through  the  window  of  that  room?  Was  he  chiv- 
alrously refusing  to  drag  Miss  Frayne  into  the  case? 
Barstow  did  not  impress  me  as  chivalrous,  but  he 
certainly  would  not  imperil  his  client's  safety  merely 
to  save  her  friend  from  embarrassment.  Was  he 
holding  the  information  in  reserve  until  the  prosecu- 
tion had  submitted  all  its  proofs  in  order  to  make 
the  surprise  as  complete  as  possible?  There  might 
be  a  certain  tactical  shrewdness  in  this,  but  it  seemed 
incredible  that  he  would  risk  anything  for  mere 
dramatic  effect. 

With  this  evidence  before  it  the  Grand  Jury  might 
never  have  indicted  the  woman  at  all — a  far  more 
desirable  end  than  any  surprise  at  her  trial.  It  was 
inconceivable  that  a  lawyer  of  his  experience  would 
withhold  a  fact  vital  to  his  client  merely  for  the  pur- 
pose of  making  a  brilliant,  spectacular  defence.  Yet 

116 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

was  not  this  what  the  housekeeper  had  complained 
of  in  the  interview  at  the  farm-house  ?  I  distinctly 
remembered  hearing  her  declare  that  he  could  and 
should  have  prevented  the  indictment  of  his  client. 
Was  he  conducting  this  case  in  the  manner  best  cal- 
culated to  enhance  his  professional  reputation  re- 
gardless of  the  defendant's  highest  interest?  Was 
she  merely  a  pawn  in  his  legal  game?  Was  this  the 
reason  he  would  not  let  his  client  talk  ?  Why  did  he 
want  Madeleine  Mapes  and  Betty  Field  out  of  the 
way?  Was  it  because  their  presence  would  render 
an  acquittal  too  easy,  and  interfere  with  his  plan 
to  make  capital  and  reputation  out  of  a  seemingly 
difficult  cause?  No.  They  both  knew  something 
about  the  blue  dress,  and  possibly  other  matters  un- 
favorable to  the  defendant.  Perhaps  they  knew  who 
occupied  Miss  Emory's  room  on  November  26..  Did 
Gilbert  know  it  too  ? 

The  silent  question  startled  me  into  the  suspicion 
that  he  might  be  purposely  ignoring  Miss  Frayne's 
connection  with  the  case.  Was  he  capable  of  a  de- 
liberate injustice  to  one  woman  that  he  might  save 
another  from  disagreeable  publicity  and  scandal  ? 
The  idea  no  sooner  recurred  to  me  than  I  saw  its 
absurdity.  He  had  every  reason  to  welcome  an 
excuse  for  abandoning  the  Emory  case,  and  Barbara 
Frayne  had  equal  reason  for  supplying  him  with  all 
the  favorable  information  in  her  possession.  Why 
had  she  not  told  him  what  she  had  told  me? 

At  first  I  seriously  considered  the  advisability  of 
117 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

reporting  all  I  had  heard  to  the  Judge  before  the 
reopening  of  court,  but  second  thoughts  convinced 
me  that  such  action  was  neither  necessary  nor  ex- 
pedient. My  experience  in  attempting  to  explain 
matters  had  not  been  calculated  to  encourage  further 
efforts  in  that  direction.  His  Honor  would  probably 
again  inquire  if  I  had  formed  any  unalterable  opinion 
as  to  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  accused,  and  if  I 
replied  in  the  negative  he  would  cut  me  off  without 
another  word.  Miss  Frayne's  message  had  not  con- 
vinced me  of  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  her  friend. 
In  all  probability  it  had  merely  given  me  advance 
information  of  a  point  which  Barstow  would  bring 
out  in  due  season,  and  if  he  did  not  I  could  supply  the 
omission  at  any  moment  by  calling  Miss  Barbara  to 
the  stand. 

I  had  begun  by  fiercely  resenting  her  action  in 
forcing  her  secret  upon  me,  but  on  further  considera- 
tion I  found  much  in  her  loyalty  to  her  friend,  her 
natural  impulsiveness,  and  the  provokingly  mysteri- 
ous tactics  of  the  lawyers  to  excuse  her  conduct,  and 
I  dwelt  upon  this  line  of  argument  with  such  effect 
that  I  ended  with  something  like  a  keen  appreciation 
of  the  confidence  reposed  in  me. 

I  moved  forward  more  rapidly  and  with  a  lighter 
step  as  I  reached  this  point  in  my  reflections,  and  al- 
most immediately  bumped  into  a  man  walking  in  the 
opposite  direction. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  began. 

"It's  entirely  my  fault,  Mr.  Lambert.  I  was 
118 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

walking  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  road  and  I'm  glad 
you  ran  into  me,  for  you're  the  very  person  I  most 
wanted  to  see." 

I  peered  at  the  speaker,  but  though  his  voice  was 
familiar  I  did  not  recognize  his  face. 

"You  do  not  remember  me,  I  see,"  he  remarked, 
smilingly,  as  he  noted  my  puzzled  expression. 

"It's  very  dark  in  the  lane  here,"  I  temporized, 
"and  though  I  recognize  your  voice  I'm  afraid  I 
cannot  at  the  moment  recall  you." 

"That's  not  at  all  surprising,  Mr.  Lambert,"  he 
responded,  pleasantly;  "pray  don't  apologize.  I'm 
one  of  Mr.  Gilbert's  assistants,  and  I  thought  per- 
haps you  might  have  noticed  me  in  court." 

I  stared  closely  at  the  young  man,  and  although 
it  was  too  dark  under  the  trees  to  get  a  good  view  I 
thought  I  should  have  remembered  his  face  if  I  had 
ever  seen  it  before.  It  suggested  a  fox  with  flattened 
ears,  and  eyes  continually  glancing  backward — a 
crafty,  timid,  unreliable  face  belying  the  man's  voice 
and  manner,  which  were  unusually  agreeable. 

"What  can  I  do  for  Mr.  Gilbert's  assistant?"  I 
inquired,  coldly,  for  I  had  no  desire  to  extend  my 
acquaintance  with  the  gentleman. 

"Nothing  for  me,  Mr.  Lambert,"  he  responded, 
affably.  "I  am  merely  Mr.  Gilbert's  messenger  in 
the  matter,  which  I  can  explain  in  a  very  few  words." 

"Please  do  so,"  I  replied,  moving  on  suggestively. 

"The  fewer  the  better — eh?"  he  laughed,  as  he 
fell  into  step  beside  me.  "  Well,  a  word  to  the  wise  is 

119 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

sufficient,  sir.  Mr.  Gilbert  thinks  that  perhaps  you 
should  have  been  excused  from  the  jury  this  morning. 
That  is  the  gist  of  the  whole  matter,  Mr.  Lambert." 

I  stopped  and  stared  at  the  speaker,  but  the  sight 
of  his  face  dampened  the  joy  I  had  instinctively  felt 
at  his  words. 

"Mr.  Gilbert  thinks  rather  slowly,"  I  observed, 
severely.  "Had  he  used  his  wits  this  morning  we 
would  have  both  saved  a  day." 

"He  recognizes  that,  sir,"  responded  the  assistant. 
"But  I  suppose  he's  acting  on  the  principle  of  better 
late  than  never.  Anyway,  he  wants  to  do  what  is 
right  and  fair  now  if  he  has  made  any  mistake  up  to 
date." 

"Who  is  to  show  the  prosecutor  the  error  of  his 
ways?"  I  inquired,  moving  on  again,  at  the  same  time 
wondering  where  I  could  have  heard  the  assistant's 
voice. 

" You  can,  Mr.  Lambert,"  he  replied.  "You  see, 
Mr.  Gilbert  thinks  the  Judge  ought  to  have  allowed 
you  to  make  a  full  explanation  this  morning,  and 
believing  you  were  not  treated  fairly  he  offers  to 
take  up  the  matter  again  and  procure  your  discharge 
if  the  facts  in  any  way  warrant  it.  Of  course  he 
does  not  make  this  suggestion  wholly  in  your  interest, 
for  if  there  should  be  any  really  valid  reason  for  your 
resignation  it  might  give  the  other  side  a  chance  to 
upset  the  verdict  if  we  obtain  one,  and  then  we  would 
all  have  our  work  to  do  again." 

The    speaker    paused    and    I    turned    inquiringly 
120 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

towards  him,  but  he  seemed  to  think  he  had  made 
himself  sufficiently  clear,  for  he  met  me  with  a  fur- 
tive glance  of  expectation. 

"You  will  have  to  speak  more  plainly,  my  friend, 
if  you  expect  me  to  understand  what  is  wanted,"  I 
growled.  "I'm  in  no  mood  for  guessing  road-side 
riddles." 

The  messenger  laughed  so  frankly  and  good- 
naturedly  that  I  almost  forgot  his  fox  face. 

"There  is  nothing  mysterious  in  my  mission,  Mr. 
Lambert,"  he  responded,  pleasantly,  "and  I  am  to 
blame  if  it  sounds  so.  The  idea  is  for  you  to  tell  me 
why  you  asked  to  be  excused  from  further  service  on 
the  jury  this  morning.  That  is  to  say,  what  facts 
you  learned  or  what  you  heard  which  in  your  opinion 
disqualified  you.  With  this  information  Mr.  Gilbert 
will  know  whether  or  not  there  is  any  chance  of  ob- 
taining your  release,  and  if  there  is  he  will  take  the 
necessary  steps  at  once.  If  not,  there  is  no  harm 
done  and  you  can  treat  each  other's  communication 
as  confidential  and  let  the  matter  drop.  Of  course 
you  understand,  Mr.  Lambert,  that  personally  Mr. 
Gilbert  would  much  prefer  to  have  you  remain,  and 
it  is  only  because — " 

I  suddenly  halted,  for  something  in  the  man's 
voice  recalled  the  conversation  in  the  Shaw  house, 
and  in  a  flash  I  recognized  the  speaker  as  Miss  Mapes's 
visitor.  "Barstow's  man,"  she  had  called  him!  And 
what  else  ?  Another  moment  and  I  would  have  his 
name.  In  my  excitement  I  grasped  the  fellow's  arm. 

121 


THE  ACCOMPLICE 

"What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Lambert?"  he  inquired, 
but,  though  his  voice  was  steady,  he  instinctively 
backed  away  from  me  and  his  furtive  eyes  sought 
the  lane  behind  him.  I  did  not  reply  immediately, 
for  I  was  struggling  to  remember  his  name,  which 
was  even  then  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue. 

"I  don't  know  what  is  the  matter,"  I  answered, 
slowly  and  pointedly,  "and  I  don't  like  to  think,  sir. 
You  can  tell  your  principal,  however,  that  I  decline 
his  proposition — decline  it  positively,  unequivocally, 
and  without  thanks.  Good-night,  Mr.  Hunt!" 

The  man  fairly  staggered  as  the  name  burst  from 
me,  but  he  recovered  himself  with  amazing  assurance. 
No  one  could  have  done  better.  I  say  it  to  his 
credit. 

"Pardon  me  for  not  mentioning  my  name,"  he  re- 
sponded, with  dignity  and  calmness.  "I  am  Mr. 
Corning — Abel  Corning,  at  your  service,  Mr.  Lam- 
bert. I  will  report  your  answer  to  Mr.  Gilbert  at 
once,  sir.  Good-night." 


XIV 

I  MADE  my  way  to  the  hotel,  firmly  resolving 
not  to  leave  it  again  except  in  the  company  of 
my  fellow- jurors.  My  adventure  at  the  Shaw  farm 
had  been  the  result  of  my  own  indiscretion,  but  I 
certainly  had  not  opened  myself  to  the  gratuitous 
telephone  confidence  or  to  Barstow's  sinister  ap- 
proach. Still  if  I  were  to  be  harassed  and  impor- 
tuned at  every  turn,  it  would  be  much  safer  to  keep 
the  company  of  my  associates  and  place  myself  be- 
yond the  reach  of  further  accident  or  design.  But 
even  as  I  determined  on  this  course  I  knew  that  in 
one  way,  at  least,  the  mischief  was  already  done,  for 
my  latest  experience  had  made  an  impression  upon 
my  mind  which  could  not  easily  be  effaced.  The 
Pollicet  message  had  startled  and  disturbed  me  at 
first,  but  maturer  consideration  had  convinced  me 
that  I  had  merely  been  apprised  of  one  of  the  de- 
fences which  Barstow  was  undoubtedly  holding  in 
reserve,  and  that  the  knowledge  which  I  had  thus 
acquired  in  advance  would  not  influence  me  one  way 
or  the  other. 

But  the  encounter  with  Mr.  Hunt  was  quite  an- 
other matter.      It  was  clearly  an  attempt  on  Bar- 
9  123 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

stow's  part  to  worm  information  from  me  which 
might  prove  useful  to  his  cause,  or  to  see  whether  or 
not  I  was  a  desirable  juror.  The  mere  fact  of  his 
resorting  to  such  tricks  was  of  itself  enough  to  preju- 
dice me  against  him,  but  I  could  still  have  depended 
upon  myself  to  discriminate  between  the  counsel  and 
his  client  had  it  not  been  that  his  action  reflected  the 
weakness  of  his  case.  A  lawyer  resorting  to  the 
dangerous  expedient  of  approaching  a  juror  must 
be  in  sore  straits  for  legitimate  defence.  Nothing 
which  had  come  to  my  knowledge,  either  in  or  out 
of  the  court-room,  had  had  any  controlling  weight 
with  me  until  I  had  unmasked  this  attempt,  but  I 
knew  I  could  never  forget  such  a  sinister  episode  and 
I  dreaded  its  unconscious  effect  on  my  judgment. 

My  first  thought  was  publicly  to  denounce  the 
man  and  his  methods,  but  second  thoughts  convinced 
me  that  any  exposure  of  the  lawyer  would  result  in 
a  cruel  injustice  to  the  client  from  which  she  might 
never  recover.  Nine  men  out  of  ten  would  read  her 
guilt  in  Barstow's  exposure,  were  she  never  so  inno- 
cent of  his  injudicious  efforts  on  her  behalf.  But 
quite  aside  from  any  effect  which  my  accusations 
might  have  upon  the  defendant's  case,  I  knew  I  must 
be  prepared  to  support  my  charges  if  I  made  them 
at  all. 

And  what  proof  did  I  possess?  Stripped  of  con- 
jecture and  inference,  my  story  was  pitifully  inade- 
quate. The  sum  and  substance  of  it  all  was  that  I 
had  been  asked  certain  questions  by  some  one  whose 

124 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

voice  I  thought  I  recognized  as  a  man  said  to  be  in 
Barstow's  employ,  and  whom  Miss  Mapes  had  called 
Hunt.  I  could  not  produce  the  man  or  tell  who  he 
was  or  where  he  could  be  found,  and  the  circumstances 
under  which  I  had  heard  his  name  would  not  recom- 
mend my  veracity.  I  would  be  discredited  and 
laughed  out  of  court  as  a  dreamer  at  best,  or  as  a  liar 
at  worst,  and,  in  any  event,  a  self-confessed  eaves- 
dropper whose  word  would  scarcely  require  Barstow's 
sure  denial.  I  would  cut  a  ridiculous  figure  in  the 
eyes  of  the  whole  community,  and  Barbara  Frayne 
would  be  justified  in  holding  me  in  utter  abhorrence 
and  contempt. 

No.  Denunciation  was  not  to  be  thought  of  for  a 
moment.  It  was  far  better  to  bear  the  burden  of  an 
increased  responsibility  and  rely  upon  my  own  con- 
science than  to  court  disaster  to  myself  and  possibly 
work  irreparable  injury  to  another  whose  fate  was  in 
my  keeping. 


I  found  the  company  at  the  Melton  House  much 
as  I  had  left  it,  except  that  the  circle  about  the  big 
wood-stove  had  increased  until  there  was  not  a  va- 
cant seat  in  the  place.  Indeed,  some  of  the  chairs 
held  two  occupants  apiece,  and  the  writing-table  had 
been  pulled  up  behind  the  chairs  to  serve  as  a  gal- 
lery for  half  a  dozen  auditors.  Over  the  group  hung 
a  blue  canopy  of  tobacco  smoke,  and  some  of  the 
men  nearest  the  stove  had  removed  their  coats  and 

125 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

were  sitting  in  their  shirt-sleeves,  but  as  the  room 
was  not  unbearably  hot  I  concluded  that  habit  and 
not  heat  prompted  the  informality. 

A  keen-faced  country  lawyer  was  just  finishing  a 
story  as  I  entered,  and  Bayne  shifted  to  one  side  of 
his  chair  and  silently  invited  me  to  share  it  with  him. 
I  did  not  fancy  this  picnic  familiarity,  however,  and, 
answering  his  suggestion  with  a  shake  of  my  head, 
remained  standing  near  the  doorway. 

"That  was  the  last  recommendation  I  ever  gave 
to  any  man,"  the  speaker  was  saying,  "  and  I  wouldn't 
give  one  to-day  to  my  own  brother." 

"I  don't  blame  you,"  responded  an  undersized  man 
seated  on  the  writing-table.  "  I  had  a  case  once,  and — " 

"Do  you  remember  Lincoln's  celebrated  letter  of 
recommendation?"  interrupted  "No.  3"  of  the  jury. 

"No.     Let's  have  it,"  responded  the  first  speaker. 

"Well,"  continued  my  associate,  "somebody  wrote 
Lincoln  asking  him  about  a  fellow  in  Illinois  who  had 
given  the  President's  name  as  a  reference  in  a  matter 
of  business  credit.  Lincoln  answered  something  like 
this:  '/  have  your  letter  as  to  Mr.  Blank's  financial 
responsibility.  In  reply  I  beg  to  say  he  has  a  wife  and 
child  which  should  be  worth  to  any  man  at  least  five 
hundred  thousand  dollars.  Besides  these  he  has  to  my 
certain  knowledge  in  his  office  a  deal  table  worth  about 
a  dollar  fifty,  and  two  cane-bottomed  chairs  worth  as 
much  more.  Also  in  the  corner  of  his  office  there  is  a 
rat-hole  which  will  bear  looking  into.  Yours  truly, 
A.  Lincoln.'" 

126 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

I  noticed  that  the  little  man  on  the  writing-table 
did  not  join  in  the  laugh  which  greeted  this  story, 
but  I  saw  his  lips  move  as  though  he  were  attempt- 
ing to  make  himself  heard.  His  small  face  be- 
trayed conceit  and  self-importance  in  every  line,  de- 
spite its  utter  insignificance,  to  which  his  pompadour 
hair  and  small  red  side-whiskers  gave  the  finishing- 
touch. 

'That's  very  good,"  he  began,  as  the  laughter 
ceased.  "Most  of  the  stories  about  Lincoln  are  en- 
tirely apocryphal,  but  that  one's  so  old  I  suppose 
he's  entitled  to  it  whether  it's  true  or  not.  How- 
ever, such  things  do  happen.  I  had  a  case  myself 
once — 

"  Speaking  of  recommendations  " — interposed  a  fat, 
good-natured  looking  attorney  seated  next  to  Bayne. 

"Which  is  precisely  what  I  was  speaking  of,"  in- 
sisted the  little  man.  "Some  years  ago  I  had  a 
case — 

"Speaking  of  recommendations  to  mercy,"  calmly 
pursued  the  interrupter,  "I  got  my  experience  early 
in  the  game  when  I  was  filled  with  the  milk  of  human 
kindness  and  mushy  accordingly." 

The  hotel  clerk  brought  me  a  chair  from  the  dining- 
room,  and  as  I  thanked  him  I  called  his  attention  to 
the  red-whiskered  individual  whose  face  was  a  ludi- 
crous study  of  wrath  and  disappointment. 

"That's  ' I-had-a-case  Carson,'"  he  explained,  in  a 
whisper.  "Nobody  believes  he  ever  had  a  case,  but 
he  lives  for  these  occasions  and  he's  wild  to  get  the 

127 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

floor.  The  fellow  talking  now  just  loves  to  choke 
him  off,  and  the  other  lawyers  devil  him  all  they 
can." 

The  little  attorney's  expression  of  impotent  in- 
dignation demonstrated  that  he  was  being  "deviled" 
almost  past  endurance,  but  after  glaring  at  the 
speaker  for  a  moment  he  pulled  out  a  big,  black 
cigar,  savagely  bit  off  the  end,  and  tried  to  engage  his 
neighbor  in  conversation. 

"Well,  my  man  appeared  so  dazed  and  hopeless," 
the  fat  attorney  was  saying,  "that  I  saw  nothing  for 
it  but  to  plead  guilty  and  throw  myself  on  the  mercy 
of  the  Court.  He  was  a  lawyer,  but  I  thought  if  I 
could  get  a  lot  of  people  to  put  in  a  good  word  for 
him  I  could  offset  that,  and  before  long  I  accumu- 
lated the  greatest  set  of  'previous-good-character' 
testimonials  you  ever  saw  in  your  life.  They  were 
so  sweeping  and  cordial  that  I  positively  wept  to 
think  of  letting  such  a  good  man  go  to  prison,  and  I 
determined  to  attempt  his  acquittal.  But  say!  Did 
any  of  you  ever  try  to  get  up  a  defence-fund  for  one  of 
those  blameless-life  fellows?  Well,  if  you  do  you'll 
find  good  words  are  all  their  friends  will  give  'em.  I 
couldn't  work  fifty  cents  out  of  the  whole  bunch.  My 
client  was  '  one  of  God's  noblemen ' — but  he  was  such  a 
clever  lawyer  surely  he  could  conduct  his  own  case 
without  expense;  he  was  'the  salt  of  the  earth' — but 
they  didn't  propose  to  put  up  any  dust  for  him;  he 
had  '  a  pure  and  spotless  past '  and  his  '  home  life  was 
very  beauttful'  •  -  but  if  funds  were  needed  for  his 

128 


defence  he'd  better  go  to  jail.  These  were  the  only 
contributions  I  received  from  his  eulogizers.  Then 
I  sounded  my  man  on  making  restitution.  'Try  it,' 
he  said,  and  I  tried  it  with  such  success  that  I  was 
given  a  virtual  assurance  of  a  sentence  not  exceeding 
three  years  if  he'd  return  what  he'd  stolen.  Ten 
years  was  what  I  otherwise  expected  him  to  get,  and 
I  told  him  so  when  he  asked  my  opinion.  He  con- 
sidered the  matter  for  some  time  and  then  dashed 
all  my  hopes. 

'"I'll  stand  pat,'  he  answered. 

'"You  mean  you'd  rather  serve  treble  time  than 
give  up  the  whole  or  any  part  of  your  stealings  ?'  I 
demanded,  indignantly. 

"'I  stand  pat,'  he  repeated,  calmly. 

"If  the  fellow  had  had  kith  or  kin  in  need  of  the 
swag  I  wouldn't  have  blamed  him,  but  he  didn't  have 
anybody  but  himself  to  look  out  for.  He  simply 
preferred  to  risk  ten  years  than  give  up  his  ill-gotten 
gains,  and  I  never  did  find  out  where  he'd  hid  'em. 
With  the  aid  of  those  good -character  certificates 
however,  I  got  his  sentence  cut  down  to  five  years, 
for  which  service  he  never  as  much  as  said  thank 
you." 

"Didn't  you  get  your  fee?"  inquired  Bayne. 

"  Not  a  cent!"  exclaimed  the  narrator.  "  He  was  a 
born  criminal  with  a  blameless  past." 

"I  had  a  case  like  that  once,"  piped  up  Carson. 

"Hold  on,  I  haven't  told  you  the  worst  yet,"  con- 
tinued the  fat  man.  "Two  years  ago  when  I  was 

129 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

down  in  a  scrag-town  in  Oklahoma  I  was  arrested 
for  riding  a  bicycle  on  the  sidewalk,  and  the  Justice 
before  whom  I  was  hauled  was  my  friend  of  the 
blameless  past.  Well,  sirs,  he  fined  me  twenty-five 
dollars  without  the  faltering  of  an  eyelid,  and  I  be- 
lieve if  I  hadn't  paid  the  fine  and  left  town  instanter 
he'd  have  had  me  in  Jail  for  six  months!  That's 
what  I  call  professional  courtesy.  What  were  you 
going  to  say,  Carson?" 

There  was  an  audible  titter  at  the  question,  but 
the  little  bore  lost  no  time  in  grasping  his  oppor- 
tunity. 

"I  was  going  to  tell  you  about  a  case  I  had  in- 
volving professional  courtesy — "  he  began,  hurriedly. 

"By  Jove,  that  reminds  me!"  burst  in  another 
lawyer.  "One  time  when  I  was  practising  out  in 
Montana — " 

"Excuse  me!"  interrupted  Carson,  indignantly. 

"Certainly,  old  man — don't  mention  it,"  continued 
the  tormentor.  "I'll  excuse  you  any  time,  but  I 
want  the  other  fellows  to  hear  this  yarn — and  it's 
no  yarn  either,  but  a  true  bill  from  Montana  where 
no  liars  are  at  large.  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  when  I 
was  practising  out  there  the  State  prosecutor  and 
the  defendant's  counsel  in  a  murder  trial  were  oppo- 
sition candidates  for  Congress,  and  in  the  middle  of 
the  case  the  prosecutor  saw  that  the  evidence  was 
going  against  him  and  that  an  acquittal  would  be 
mighty  popular.  So  he  ups  and  requests  the  dis- 
missal of  the  indictment  and  the  discharge  of  the 

130 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

prisoner,  knowing  that  the  same  would  reflect  great 
credit  on  himself  and  knock  the  wind  out  of  his  oppo- 
nent. But  the  other  fellow  was  onto  the  game,  and 
with  a  sure  case  he  hadn't  any  notion  of  letting  his 
adversary  win  out  on  any  magnanimous  bluff  of  that 
sort.  So  he  rears  up  on  his  hind  legs  and  fights  to 
have  the  case  submitted  to  the  jury,  claiming  his 
client  was  entitled  to  an  acquittal  at  the  hands  of  his 
peers,  and  nothing  less  than  this  would  satisfy  him, 
and  finally  the  Judge  decided  to  allow  the  innocent 
gent  to  be  exonerated  by  the  jurors  and  submitted 
the  case  to  them.  Well,  sirs,  that  jury  stayed  out  'bout 
fifteen  seconds  and  then  brought  in  a  verdict  of  guilty !" 

"You  say  that  happened  in  Montana?"  asked  a 
late-comer,  joining  in  the  general  laugh. 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  serious  answer. 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  believe  it  if  you'd  located  it 
twice  as  far  away,"  remarked  the  questioner,  as  he 
took  a  chair  which  the  clerk  offered  him  and  sat  down 
beside  me.  "Would  you?"  he  inquired,  smilingly, 
as  he  offered  me  a  cigar. 

"I  don't  know,"  I  answered,  as  some  one  started 
another  story.  "Can  a  prosecutor  dismiss  a  case  if 
he  thinks  the  prisoner  innocent?" 

"Of  course,"  answered  my  neighbor.  "If  he 
couldn't,  he  might  have  to  continue  prosecuting  a 
man  whom  he  believed  innocent.  That  would  be 
horrible.  By-the-way,  I  want  to  introduce  myself, 
Mr.  Lambert.  I  am  Abel  Corning,  one  of  Mr.  Gil- 
bert's assistants." 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

I  glanced  with  interest  at  the  speaker's  face,  which 
bore  a  certain  resemblance  to  Hunt's,  but  though 
there  was  no  mistaking  the  two  personalities,  there 
was  enough  to  justify  Hunt's  subterfuge.  Now,  if 
I  denounced  the  unknown  emissary  who  travelled 
under  the  name  of  Abel  Corning,  and  could  produce 
no  one  but  the  real  Abel  Corning  to  answer  the  de- 
scription, who  would  be  most  involved,  the  prose- 
cutor or  his  opponent?  Hunt  had  more  than  risen 
to  the  emergency.  He  had  surmounted  it. 

"I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Corning,"  I 
responded.  "Do  you  happen  to  know  a  lawyer 
named  Hunt?"  I  added,  after  a  pause. 

"  Hunt?"  he  repeated.  " No,  I  never  heard  of  him. 
Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Merely  because — "  I  began,  but  allowed  myself 
to  be  interrupted  as  Carson  piped  up, 

"I  had  a  case  like  that  once — " 


XV 


rT^HERE  were  but  few  spectators  in  the  court- 
1  room  when  we  filed  into  the  jury-box  on  the 
second  morning  of  the  trial,  and  Bayne  confessed  that 
he  had  heard  rumors  of  an  adjournment  the  previous 
evening.  Others  had  heard  the  same  thing,  and  it 
was  the  general  opinion  of  the  jurors  that  the  public 
had  received  definite  information  of  some  hitch  in 
the  proceedings  and  we  would  be  dismissed  for  the 
day  as  soon  as  court  opened.  All  doubt  of  the  mat- 
ter was  dispelled,  however,  when  Judge  Dudley  as- 
cended the  bench  and  a  young  attorney,  whom  I 
had  not  previously  noticed,  rose  and  requested  an 
adjournment,  owing  to  the  sudden  illness  of  Mr. 
Ferris  Barstow,  counsel  for  the  defence. 

I  was  considerably  alarmed  to  find  myself  in- 
stinctively interpreting  this  excuse  as  a  cover  to  hide 
the  defendant's  collapse,  for  it  indicated  that  the 
events  of  the  previous  evening  had  had  more  effect 
upon  me  than  I  realized,  and  I  began  to  fear  I  was 
hopelessly  biased  in  my  opinion  of  the  counsel,  if  not 
of  his  cause.  If  I  allowed  myself  to  question  Bar- 
stow's  motive  in  an  unimportant  matter  of  delay,  I 
would  soon  find  my  suspicions  coloring  all  the  testi- 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

mony  he  introduced  and  end  by  prejudging  the  case. 
But  if  I  had  been  inclined  to  encourage  my  passing 
thought,  Gilbert's  reception  of  his  adversary's  re- 
quest would  have  checked  me.  He  not  only  be- 
trayed no  suspicion  of  bad  faith,  but  expressed  hearty 
and  sincere  regret  at  the  cause  of  the  delay,  and  joined 
in  requesting  the  Court  to  grant  the  proposed  adjourn- 
ment. Thereupon  Judge  Dudley  promptly  announced 
a  recess  until  the  following  morning,  and  discharged 
us  with  the  customary  caution  touching  our  conver- 
sation and  conduct.  The  words  were  no  sooner  out 
of  his  mouth  than  I  hastened  from  the  room,  and 
though  I  heard  Bayne  call  out  to  me  as  I  reached 
the  door  I  pretended  not  to  hear  him,  for  I  was  anx- 
ious to  start  for  Hefryville  at  the  earliest  possible 
moment.  With  this  idea  I  made  straight  for  the 
stable,  and  directed  the  proprietor  to  have  my  horse 
and  trap  sent  to  the  Melton  House  at  once. 

If  the  man  heard  my  request  he  was  evidently  not 
impressed  with  the  necessity  for  haste,  for  he  merely 
nodded  his  head  and  continued  whittling  a  stick,  as 
though  I  had  not  spoken.  I  waited  a  moment  and 
then  impatiently  repeated  my  order. 

"Want  'em  now?"  he  inquired,  slowly,  blinking 
stupidly  up  at  me  from  the  overturned  bucket  on 
which  he  was  seated. 

"Yes.  Now!  Immediately!  At  once!"  I  answered, 
testily. 

"  W-a-11 — ain't  that  too  bad !"  he  muttered,  thought- 
fully, stroking  his  beard. 

134 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"What's  too  bad?"  I  inquired,  impatiently. 

"Why,  that  you  should  be  wantin'  yure  buggy  to- 
day," he  drawled.  "I  kinder  calculated  you'd  hev 
no  sorter  use  for  it  long  's  Court  was  settin',  and  I 
loaned  it  out  to  Rube  Stacey." 

"Loaned  my  wagon?"  I  roared.  "Well,  of  all 
the—" 

Words  failed  me,  and  I  stood  glaring  in  helpless 
wrath  at  the  imperturbable  countenance  upturned 
to  me. 

"Did  you  lend  the  horse,  too?"  I  concluded,  with 
forced  calmness. 

"No,  sir.  No,  siree.  I  wouldn't  think  of  loaning 
none  of  the  critters  in  my  barn.  No,  indeed." 

The  aggrieved  tone  of  the  reply  was  so  utterly 
ridiculous  that  I  almost  laughed  in  spite  of  myself. 

"Well,  I  wish  you  hadn't  thought  of  lending  the 
buggy,  either,"  I  retorted.  "However,  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  be  grateful.  Put  the  horse  to  the  best 
wagon  you've  got  and  let  me  get  away.  I'm  in  a 
hurry." 

The  countryman  tipped  his  bucket  forward,  pick- 
ed up  a  straw,  and  leaned  back  against  the  stable 
wall. 

"Ain't  that  too  bad!"  he  drawled. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  I  demanded,  sharply. 

"We  ain't  got  a  thing  on  wheels  in  the  place, 
mister,  and  I  don't  reckon  there's  as  much  as  a  go- 
cart  left  in  town.  The  hull  outfit  was  hired  last 
night." 

135 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

I  could  have  shaken  the  man  in  sheer  rage,  and 
for  some  seconds  I  did  not  trust  myself  to  speak. 
Finally  I  controlled  my  voice  sufficiently  for  a  last 
suggestion. 

"Have  you  got  a  saddle?"  I  inquired. 

"No-o.  Yes,  sir.  I  think  likely  I  kin  get  you  a 
saddle  off  the  Perkins  people,  if  you  kin  stick  on 
the  English  kind." 

"I  can,"  I  answered.  "Try  the  Perkins  people, 
whoever  they  are,  and  hurry  up  about  it." 

The  man  rose  slowly  from  his  perch,  stretched  him- 
self, scratched  his  head  thoughtfully,  and  at  last 
wandered  off  in  the  direction  of  the  Melton  House. 
Ten  minutes  later  he  reappeared  carrying  a  first- 
class  English  saddle  and  bridle,  a  pair  of  smart  riding- 
breeches,  a  hunting-crop,  a  pair  of  spurs,  and  an  as- 
sortment of  soft  caps. 

"See  if  any  of  them  '11  fit  ye,"  he  suggested,  as  he 
dropped  the  collection  on  a  bench. 

"Where  in  the  world  did  you  get  all  that  loot?"  I 
inquired,  as  he  disappeared  towards  the  stable  with 
the  saddle  and  bridle. 

"  Over  to  Perkins's,"  he  answered.  "  Help  yourself. 
There's  plenty  more  truck  over  there  if  them  don't 
suit  yer." 

With  some  misgiving  that  I  might  be  arrested  on 
sight  by  the  accommodating  Perkins,  or  whoever 
owned  the  outfit,  I  made  a  judicious  selection,  and 
soon  found  myself  as  comfortably  equipped  as  I 
would  have  been  in  my  own  belongings. 

136 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Looks  as  though  them  things  was  made  for  ye," 
ejaculated  the  stableman,  as  he  reappeared  with 
my  horse.  "I  thought  yer  was  about  the  cut  of 
them  Perkins  boys." 

Not  knowing  the  Perkins  boys,  I  was  doubtful 
whether  this  was  intended  as  a  compliment  or  not, 
and  busied  myself  readjusting  the  saddle-girths. 

"That  ought  to  be  a  good  ridin' -horse,"  com- 
mented the  man,  and  then  as  I  swung  into  the  saddle 
he  added,  "Reckon  this  ain't  the  first  time  you 
backed  him — eh?" 

"No,"  I  answered,  shortly. 

"Learned  your  ridin'  out  West,  too,"  he  vouch- 
safed, disinterestedly. 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  I  inquired,  some- 
what less  curtly. 

"Way  you  mount,"  he  answered.  "I  was  to 
Montana  for  a  year  onct  and  I  seed  they  generally 
turned  more  to  the  tail  than  the  head  of  a  horse  when 
they  backed  him." 

"I  learned  the  little  I  know  in  Arizona,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"Then  I  guess  you  know  'nough  to  keep  from 
fallin'  off  both  sides  to  onct,"  he  reflected.  "There 
won't  be  no  charge  for  keepin'  the  horse  on  'count  of 
the  buggy,"  he  added,  as  I  started. 

With  this  comforting  assurance  I  left  the  stable- 
yard  and  turned  at  once  towards  Hefryville,  but  I  had 
no  sooner  reached  the  main  road  than  my  plans  were 
immediately  changed.  A  girl  on  horseback  was  ap- 

i37 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

preaching  from  the  opposite  direction,  and  though 
she  was  using  a  side  -  saddle  she  resembled  Miss 
Frayne  sufficiently  to  make  me  beat  a  regretful  re- 
treat, for  I  dared  not  risk  another  meeting  with  her 
just  then.  But  even  as  I  turned  and  rode  towards 
the  Melton  House  I  argued  the  matter  with  myself. 
Was  it  not  my  duty  to  warn  her  that  she  was  doing 
her  friend  more  harm  than  good  by  interfering  in  the 
Emory  case?  Could  I  see  her  subjecting  herself  to 
the  most  unpleasant  consequences  without  a  word  of 
caution?  Suppose  she  attempted  to  apprise  other 
jurymen  of  coming  events,  would  she  not  incur  the 
gravest  risks  imaginable?  If  I  should  be  compelled, 
in  pursuance  of  my  sworn  duty,  to  record  a  verdict 
which  would  terminate  my  friendship  with  her,  might 
I  not  still  put  her  upon  her  guard  in  a  way  she  might 
remember  and  some  day  understand? 

I  had  almost  convinced  myself  that  it  was  my  duty 
to  turn  in  the  opposite  direction  before  I  reached  the 
hotel,  but  the  recollection  of  my  former  disinterested 
experiments  dissuaded  me,  and,  hastily  tying  my 
horse  to  the  hitching-rail,  I  ran  to  the  piazza  steps  and 
fairly  bumped  into  Deake  Gilbert  as  he  came  out  of 
the  door. 

"Well — well,  Mr.  Lambert!"  he  exclaimed.  "I 
hardly  recognized  you  in  those  togs.  Going  riding? 
Hello — who  have  we  here?"  he  added,  and  then 
without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  passed  me  and  ran 
down  the  steps. 

It  was  not  in  the  pleasantest  frame  of  mind  that  I 
138 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

reached  my  room,  and  what  I  saw  from  my  window 
was  not  calculated  to  soothe  my  feelings. 

Miss  Frayne  had  halted  directly  in  front  of  the 
hotel,  and  Gilbert  was  standing  beside  her  horse, 
patting  its  neck  and  talking  earnestly  to  her.  The 
girl  listened  with  averted  face,  sometimes  interrupt- 
ing him  with  a  word  or  two,  but  never  returning  his 
steady  gaze.  Finally  he  turned  and  apparently  spoke 
to  the  horse,  and  I  could  see  a  smile  hovering  on  Miss 
Barbara's  lips.  The  instant  Gilbert  looked  up,  how- 
ever, she  glanced  away,  and  I  could  see  that  her 
cheeks  were  flushing  at  his  words  and  the  smile  had 
not  quite  disappeared.  The  sight  angered  me  and 
made  me  angry  with  myself.  If  the  prosecutor — 
the  man  primarily  responsible  for  Alice  Emory's  trial 
— still  retained  the  friendship  of  one  of  her  warmest 
friends,  why  should  I  conclude  that  a  verdict  of 
guilty  would  exclude  me  from  the  list  of  her  acquaint- 
ances? If  Gilbert  were  received  so  would  I  be!  If 
there  was  a  distinction  between  us  it  was  in  my  favor. 
I  was  a  weak-minded  fool  to  shun  the  society  of  this 
girl  on  conscientious  scruples.  Gilbert  evidently  did 
not  fear  her  influence  upon  his  action,  and  there  was  no 
reason  why  I  should  not  display  equal  self-confidence. 

It  must  have  been  my  steady  gaze  which  attracted 
her  attention,  for,  as  I  stood  watching  her,  Miss  Frayne 
suddenly  glanced  up  at  my  window,  recognized  me, 
and  bowed.  I  drew  back  hastily  without  returning 
her  greeting,  and  then  hurried  downstairs  to  repair 
the  omission  and  apologize  for  my  ill  manners. 

139 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

When  I  reached  the  street,  however,  Gilbert  had 
gone  and  Miss  Frayne  was  rapidly  disappearing  in 
the  distance.  Without  a  moment's  delay  I  untied 
my  horse,  and  springing  on  his  back  cantered  off  in 
pursuit.  Before  I  was  within  hailing  distance,  how- 
ever, the  girl  swung  into  a  side  road,  and  although 
I  lifted  my  hat  as  she  glanced  in  my  direction  she  did 
not  apparently  see  me,  and  when  I  reached  the  corner 
she  was  far  in  advance.  I  urged  my  horse  forward 
and  was  rapidly  overtaking  her  when  she,  too,  broke 
from  a  trot  to  a  canter,  which  became  a  gallop  as  I 
continued  to  gain  upon  her,  and  for  a  hundred  yards 
or  more  I  rode  in  a  cloud  of  choking  and  blinding 
dust.  Then  suddenly  I  felt  the  impulse  of  a  challenge 
in  her  increasing  speed,  and  touching  my  horse  with 
my  heels  I  settled  down  to  ride.  Instantly  she  re- 
sponded with  a  flash  of  her  whip,  and  away  we  thun- 
dered in  a  breakneck  race,  which  terminated  almost 
as  suddenly  as  it  began,  for  her  hat  blew  off  and  she 
immediately  began  to  draw  rein. 

"I  surrender!"  she  shouted,  as  I  shot  alongside  of 
her.  "My  hat's  off!  Stop,  please!" 

I  hauled  at  my  horse's  head,  but  both  animals 
were  excited  and  we  covered  another  quarter  of  a 
mile  before  we  finally  pulled  up,  panting  breath- 
lessly. 

"I'd — I'd  have  beaten  you  if — if  it  hadn't  been  for 
that  miserable  hat!"  she  gasped,  defiantly,  as  soon 
as  she  could  speak. 

She  had  never  looked  more  lovely,  her  cheeks  flam- 
140 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

ing  from  the  exercise  and  her  eyes  flashing  with  the 
light  of  combat. 

"We'd  have  beaten  him  easily — wouldn't  we, 
Dolly?"  she  continued,  patting  her  horse's  head. 

"I  doubt  it,"  I  asserted,  boldly.  "My  horse  isn't 
as  pretty  as  Dolly,  but  he  is  well-bred." 

"Too  well-bred  to  cut  his  acquaintances,  I  hope. 
Don't  you,  Dolly?" 

She  glanced  up  at  me  sharply  as  she  leaned  for- 
ward and  stroked  the  mare's  ears. 

"I  followed  you  to  apologize,"  I  began.  "Please 
forgive  me." 

"It's  very  much  easier  to  bow  than  to  apologize 
for  not  doing  so.  However,  I  suppose  you  were 
cross." 

"Cross?" 

"Yes — and  you're  cross  now — aren't  you?" 

"  No,  indeed." 

"Well,  severe  would  perhaps  be  the  safer  word," 
she  suggested,  with  a  smile.  "Why  are  you  so 
severe  and  stately?" 

"I  was  not  conscious  of  being  so,"  I  answered. 

"Is  it  possible  to  look  like  that  without  feeling 
it?"  she  laughed.  "I  should  think  it — would  hurt." 

"That  isn't  what  hurts,"  I  responded.  "But  I 
deserve  anything  you  care  to  say.  I  did  not  mean 
to  be  rude,  but  I  was,  and  I  hope  you'll  forgive  me." 

"I  think  I  will  in  time — that  is,  if  my  hat  isn't 
spoiled,"  she  added,  laughingly.  "It's  a  brand-new 
'  sailor/  and  if  you've  made  me  break  it — " 

141 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

I  rode  back,  and  recovering  the  hat,  handed  it  to 
her.  She  examined  it  carefully  and  then  looked 
up  at  me  smilingly. 

"  No — it  isn't  hurt,"  she  announced, "  and  you're  for- 
given. Now  tell  me  why  you  avoided  me  this  morning." 

I  hesitated,  not  wishing  to  reopen  the  forbidden 
subject,  but  frankness  seemed  the  only  reliable  safe- 
guard for  the  future. 

"I  trust  you  will  not  misunderstand  me,  Miss 
Frayne,"  I  began,  "but  after  our  conversation  last 
night  I  felt  I  had  no  right  to  meet  you  until  my 
present  duty— 

'"After  our  conversation  last  night?'"  she  inter- 
rupted. "What  conversation?" 

"You  know,"  I  answered. 

"Indeed  I  do  not,"  she  asserted,  with  a  shade  of 
annoyance  in  her  voice. 

The  denial  disappointed  me,  and  I  did  not  care  to 
conceal  my  feeling. 

"You  must  certainly  remember  telephoning  me," 
I  responded,  coldly. 

"Telephoning  you?  I  never  telephoned  you  in 
my  life." 

I  stared  at  the  girl  in  amazement,  but  her  puzzled 
expression  was  sincerity  itself. 

"Well,  somebody — "  I  began. 

Then  suddenly  it  flashed  upon  me  that  the  person 
at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  had  spoken  truly  when 
she  announced  herself  as  the  housekeeper,  and  that 
my  confidante  was  no  other  than  Madeleine  Mapes. 

142 


XVI 

SOMEBODY  telephoned  you?" 
I  heard  the  prompting  inquiry,  but  before  I 
could  reply  other  questions  crowded  my  mind  de- 
manding instant  explanation.  Miss  Mapes  had  tele- 
phoned me,  and  I  had  mistaken  her  voice  for  Bar- 
bara Frayne's.  That  was  perfectly  clear.  But  why 
had  the  woman  communicated  with  me  at  all,  and 
what  was  the  meaning  of  her  message  ?  Why  should 
she  advise  me  of  a  fact  which  she  had  already  com- 
municated to  Miss  Emory's  lawyer?  But  had  she 
really  done  so?  Of  course  Barstow  must  be  aware 
that  his  client  had  not  occupied  her  room  on  the  night 
of  the  murder.  She  would  certainly  have  told  him 
this  herself,  but  it  did  not  necessarily  follow  that  she 
knew  her  friend  the  housekeeper  had  taken  her  place. 
No  sane  lawyer  would  try  to  suppress  a  vital  fact  of 
this  kind  and  attempt  to  persuade  the  only  witness 
by  which  he  could  prove  it  to  leave  the  State.  It 
was  incredible  that  he  had  been  advised  of  the  true 
state  of  affairs. 

But  could  a  woman  who  lied  to  me  on  one  point 
be  trusted  upon  any  other?  If  the  housekeeper  had 
deliberately  deceived  her  friend's  lawyer — 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

A  sudden  suspicion  halted  my  thought.  Was  she 
Miss  Emory's  friend  ?  What  had  driven  her  to  make 
this  extraordinary  confession  to  a  man  she  did  not 
know?  Was  it  the  prompting  of  a  guilty  conscience, 
or  that  resistless  impulse  to  confide  in  somebody 
which  convicts  nine  criminals  out  of  every  ten  ?  Why 
had  she  disobeyed  Barstow's  instructions  and  re- 
turned to  the  State  where  she  might  be  subpoenaed 
at  any  moment  and  compelled  to  testify  ?  The  scene 
of  the  crime  is  said  to  have  a  fatal  fascination  for  the 
criminal.  Was  this  the  explanation  of  her  presence  ? 

"I  shall  continue  prompting  you  until  you  take 
the  cue.  Somebody  telephoned  you?" 

I  glanced  at  Miss  Frayne's  bright,  questioning  face, 
and  all  my  perplexities  were  instantly  merged  in  the 
glad  thought  that  she  was  not  involved  in  the  case, 
and  that  my  suspicions  and  fears  concerning  her 
were  wholly  without  foundation. 

"Yes.  Somebody  telephoned  me,"  I  responded, 
smilingly,  "and  I  thought — " 

"You  thought  the  somebody  was  I  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  What  made  you  think  so  ?" 

"I  mistook  the  voice." 

"Only  the  voice?" 

The  question  was  accusing,  and  realizing  its  jus- 
tice I  did  not  immediately  reply. 

"  Please  don't  trouble  to  explain,"  she  continued. 
"I  understand  the  matter  perfectly.  You  heard 
something  disagreeable  and  attributed  it  to  me." 

144 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"I  can  only  apologize  now,"  I  answered.  "But 
some  day  I  will  explain,  and  then  I'll  ask  you  to  for- 
give me." 

"It  is  much  more  gracious  to  forgive  without  ex- 
planation, and  I  want  due  credit  for  absolving  you 
without  confession.  But  the  next  time  you  receive 
anonymous  messages,  won't  you  please  give  me  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt?" 

"I  did." 

"You  did?"  The  girl  laughed  quietly  as  she 
hung  her  hat  on  the  pommel  of  her  saddle  and  be- 
gan pulling  off  her  gloves.  "I  shudder  to  think 
what  would  have  happened  to  me  if  I  hadn't  re- 
ceived that  doubtful  benefit." 

"Was  I  so  insufferable?" 

Our  horses  were  standing  head  to  head,  and  I 
looked  straight  into  my  companion's  eyes  as  I  put 
the  question. 

The  girl  hesitated  as  though  carefully  considering  the 
matter,  her  brows  knit  and  her  head  at  a  judicial  angle. 

"Not  exactly  insufferable,"  she  admitted,  reflec- 
tively. "Just  militantly  reserved,  magnificently  dis- 
tant, and  virtuously  unapproachable." 

She  illustrated  her  adjectives,  drawing  herself  up 
stiffly  and  scowling  comically  at  me  under  half-closed 
lids. 

"You  saw  all  that  in  one  glance?"  I  laughed. 

"In  one  or  more.  I  should  have  expressed  it 
more  simply  and  said  you  were  cross,  if  you  hadn't 
denied  it." 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Did  I  look  cross?" 

"Of  course  you  did!"  she  exclaimed.  "And  you 
may  as  well  admit  you  were.  Have  you  ever  played 
poker?"  she  continued,  her  eyes  twinkling  mis- 
chievously. 

"Once  or  twice,"  I  answered. 

"Did  you  win?" 

"I  have  never  been  lucky  at  cards,"  I  responded. 

Miss  Barbara  placed  two  long  pins  between  her 
lips  and  began  adjusting  her  hat. 

"That  has  its  compensations,  but  you  are  still  a 
bachelor,"  she  reflected.  "So  you  can't  claim  to  be 
lucky  in  love,"  she  continued,  as  she  speared  the  last 
pin  into  place.  "There  must  be  some  other  reason. 
Don't  you  know  what  it  is?" 

"Why  I  never  won  at  poker?"  I  queried.  "I  can't 
say  I've  given  any  very  serious  thought  to  the  matter." 

The  girl  laughed  delightedly. 

"Good!"  she  exclaimed.  "I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  I 
was  afraid  you  gave  serious  thought  to  everything, 
for  you're  looking  as  solemn  as  a  judge  this  minute. 
Hasn't  anybody  ever  told  you  what  an  expressive 
face  you  have?"  she  went  on,  smilingly.  "No? 
Well,  a  card-player  would  read  it  like  an  open  book. 
Why,  I  believe  I  could  tell  whether  my  hat  was  on 
straight  simply  by  looking  in  your  eyes.  Let's  see 
if  I  couldn't.  Thank  you.  A  little  too  much  to  the 
right?  No?  To  the  left,  then?  Further  forward? 
Backward?  Oh,  I  might  have  known  this  test  was 
too  severe  for  any  man!" 

146 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

I  stooped  and  hooked  up  Dolly's  fallen  reins  with 
the  handle  of  my  crop. 

"I  wonder  if  you  ever  heard  how  a  dull  mirror 
once  answered  its  mistress?"  I  inquired,  as  I  looked 
up. 

She  shook  her  head  encouragingly. 

" 'My  lady,'  it  responded,  'had  I  been  brighter  I 
might  have  been  dismissed  with  a  glance.  As  it  is,  I 
have  held  your  dear  face  longer.  Banish  me  now,  if 
you  will.'" 

The  girl  flushed  but  quickly  recovered  herself. 

"And  did  she  banish  it?"  she  queried. 

"I  never  heard,"  I  answered,  casually.  "Perhaps 
she  discovered  it  wasn't  as  dull  as  she  thought,  and — 

"Oh,  she  probably  kept  it  if  she  was  susceptible 
to  flattery — otherwise  not,"  she  interrupted.  "  Where 
were  you  going  when  I  headed  you  off  this  morning  ?" 

"To  Hefryville.     And  you?" 

"To  that  red  brick  building  yonder." 

She  pointed  with  her  whip  to  a  house  some  distance 
down  the  road,  as  she  spoke. 

"And  then?"  I  inquired. 

"Then  I  return  to  Pollicet." 

"May  I  wait  for  you?" 

"Here?  Oh,  I  wouldn't  think  of  asking  you  to 
do  that." 

"It  is  I  who  am  doing  the  asking." 

"I  know,  but  I  maybe  detained  a  long  time,  and, 
besides — " 

"You  have  made  another  engagement?"  I  in- 
147 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

terrupted,  with  sudden  jealous  intuition.  "I  under- 
stand. I  may  see  you  as  far  as  the  red  house,  may 
I  not?"  I  added,  after  a  pause. 

The  girl  glanced  hesitatingly  down  the  road. 
"I  think  you'd  better  not,"  she  replied,  at  last. 
"Why?" 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know?" 
"If  you  don't  mind  telling  me." 
"No,   I  don't  mind,  but—     Well,   that  building 
is  the  county  jail,  and  I'm  going  to  visit  a  friend. 
Now,  you  see,  you  shouldn't  have  asked  me  ques- 
tions.    Good-bye." 

She  gathered  up  the  reins  as  she  spoke,  and  in 
another  moment  she  was  waving  her  hand  far  down 
the  road.  I  lifted  my  riding-crop  in  answer,  and  sat 
watching  her  until  she  dismounted  and  disappeared 
from  view.  Then  I  swung  my  horse  about,  and  letting 
the  reins  hang  loosely  on  his  neck  started  slowly  back 
to  Melton. 

It  was  impossible  to  think  of  Barbara  Frayne  as 
a  fair-weather  friend,  and  yet  I  almost  wished  she 
was  less  loyal  as  I  turned  and  looked  back  at  the  red 
brick  building.  I  hated  to  think  of  her  in  the  com- 
pany of  Alice  Emory,  and  this  in  itself  revealed  the 
dangerous  tendency  of  my  thought.  I  was  by  no 
means  ready  to  pronounce  the  woman  guilty,  but  it 
was  idle  to  deny  that  the  facts  thus  far  developed 
against  her  lacked  but  little  of  positive  proof.  The 
first  day's  testimony,  with  its  disastrous  close,  had 
been  quite  sufficient  to  give  an  impulse  to  the  most 

148 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

impartial  mind,  and  the  developments  outside  the 
court-room,  beginning  with  my  experience  at  the 
farm-house  and  ending  with  Barstow's  sinister  move, 
had  not  been  calculated  to  diminish  my  doubts.  If 
Gilbert  continued  his  aggressive  campaign  when  the 
trial  resumed  he  would  cover  the  facts  outlined  in 
his  opening  speech.  And  then  what?  Would  Bar- 
stow  put  his  client  on  the  stand,  let  her  assert  her 
innocence,  and  rest  satisfied  with  that?  Or  would 
he  endeavor  to  show  who  had  committed  the  crime  ? 
Was  it  to  be  either  a  verdict  of  guilty  or  an  unsolved 
mystery  ? 

Thus  far  there  had  not  been  the  slightest  indica- 
tion of  any  purpose  on  Barstow's  part  to  do  more 
than  divert  the  proofs  from  his  client.  If  he  had 
contemplated  an  aggressive  campaign,  or  meditated 
turning  suspicion  upon  any  other  person,  he  would 
not  have  permitted  Gilbert  to  exclude  every  other 
inmate  of  the  house  from  the  field  of  inquiry.  Miss 
Mapes  had  been  among  the  first  eliminated  from  the 
prosecutor's  case.  Would  she  have  been  passed  by 
had  Barstow  had  the  faintest  suspicion  of  what  I 
knew  ?  Was  it  to  remain  for  me  to  develop  her  part 
in  the  story? 

Suppose  the  clew  which  had  been  inexplicably 
placed  in  my  hands  should  lead  to  important  revela- 
tions and  end  by  absolving  Alice  Emory  from  all 
connection  with  the  crime?  The  man  who  accom- 
plished such  a  result  would  render  great  service,  not 
only  to  the  defendant  and  her  friends,  but  also  to 

149 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

the  State.  If  there  was  any  basis  for  this  hope  an 
opportunity  lay  before  me  such  as,  possibly,  no 
juror  ever  possessed  before.  But  that  opportunity 
might  be  lost  if  my  information  were  not  used  in  just 
the  right  way.  To  confide  in  Barstow  after  my  late 
experience  with  his  henchman  was  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, and  to  consult  with  Gilbert  might  be  disastrous. 
Miss  Mapes  had  had  access  to  both  these  men,  and 
had  apparently  not  chosen  to  communicate  with 
them.  If  I  advised  the  prosecutor  of  her  disclosure 
he  might,  and  probably  would,  start  an  investigation 
which  would  put  her  on  her  guard  or  frighten  her  off 
altogether. 

The  more  I  thought  of  it  the  more  certain  I  became 
that  Barstow  did  not  know  what  had  been  told  me, 
and  that  I  had  been  selected  as  a  safe  channel  to 
receive  the  confidence  of  an  overcharged  mind.  If  I 
was  mistaken,  the  testimony  of  one  side  or  the  other 
would  disclose  my  error,  but  if  neither  touched  the 
point  confided  to  me  I  could  follow  it  up  as  occasion 
might  suggest.  Until  then  I  would  keep  my  own 
counsel. 

The  sound  of  hoofs  interrupted  my  thoughts,  and 
turning  in  the  saddle  I  caught  sight  of  Miss  Frayne 
coming  rapidly  towards  me. 

Scarcely  ten  minutes  had  passed  since  we  had 
parted,  and,  wondering  what  had  interfered  with 
her  errand,  I  turned  and  rode  to  meet  her. 

"This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure,"  I  began,  as  I 
came  within  hailing  distance,  but  her  face  immedi- 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

ately  showed  me  that  something  serious  had  happened. 
"  What  has  brought  you  back  so  soon  ?"  I  added. 

"I  thought,  perhaps,  you  knew — "  she  began. 

"Knew  what?"  I  queried. 

"That  we  live  in  Russia,  not  America!"  she  burst 
out,  indignantly. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  I  inquired,  sympathetically. 
"I  hope  I  didn't  make  you  late  for  the  visitors' 
hour." 

"Not  at  all.  I  was  in  plenty  of  time.  But  it 
appears  the  Czar  does  not  permit  prisoners  to  re- 
ceive visitors  during  their  trial." 

"The  Czar?" 

"Czar  Gilbert!  Those  are  his  orders.  Just  think 
of  it!  Could  anything  be  more  outrageous — even  in 
Russia?" 

She  was  the  incarnation  of  revolt  as  she  spoke — 
an  inspiring  incarnation,  too;  but  I  secretly  rejoiced 
at  the  prison  regulations. 

"I  did  not  know  that  rule  was  strictly  enforced," 
I  answered,  lightly.  "Didn't  the  officials  suggest 
some  way  out  of  the  difficulty?" 

"They  said  I  could  apply  to  the  Judge  or  the 
prosecutor  for  an  order." 

"Well,  that  is  easily  obtained.  Mr.  Gilbert  will 
give  you  an  order  for  the  asking." 

"And  do  you  think  I'd  ask  him?"  she  demanded, 
hotly. 

I  didn't  think  so,  bu  I  wanted  to  be  fair  to  Gilbert 
in  justice  to  myself. 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"Did  he  know  where  you  were  going  this  morn- 
ing?" I  asked. 

"He  must  have  known!"  she  answered.  "We 
talked  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  Oh,  I  can  just  see 
him  laughing  in  his  sleeve!"  she  burst  out,  resentfully. 

Even  as  she  spoke  I  caught  sight  of  the  prosecutor 
coming  down  the  main  street  into  which  we  were 
then  turning. 

"I  dare  say  Mr.  Gilbert  has  lots  of  things  up  his 
sleeve,"  I  answered.  "But  his  laugh  isn't  one  of 
them.  That's  always  in  evidence.  Look  at  him 
now,  for  instance." 


XVII 

/'^ILBERT  was  still  laughing  as  he  stepped  into 
\^J-  the  road  to  meet  us,  and  I  drew  rein  as  he  ap- 
proached. 

"  Good  -  morning  again,"  he  began,  bowing  to  us 
both.  "I've  just  heard  of  your  experience  at  the 
livery  -  stable,  Mr.  Lambert.  It  would  be  perfectly 
maddening  if  it  wasn't  so  funny.  This  is  a  town  of 
cool  propositions,  but  of  all  the  exhibitions  of  cheek — 
Wait  a  minute,  Barbara,"  he  broke  off,  as  Miss  Frayne 
moved  on.  "  I  find  I  can  start  a  bit  earlier  if  it  suits 
you,"  he  continued.  "But  I  think  we'd  better  wait 
until  we  see  if  those  clouds  mean  a  thunder-shower. 
Where  are  you  off  to  now?" 

The  girl  halted  and  turned  to  me  inquiringly. 

"Do  I  have  to  answer  that  question,  Mr.  Lam- 
bert?" she  asked,  ignoring  the  prosecutor. 

"  Unless  there's  some  objection,"  I  laughed.  "  Isn't 
that  the  law,  Mr.  Gilbert  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  feel  like  having  the  law  laid  down 
to  me  this  morning,"  she  retorted.  "I  forgot  to 
leave  this  letter  when  we  passed  the  post  -  office," 
she  continued,  turning  to  me.  "Do  you  mind  wait- 
ing till  I  mail  it?" 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Allow  me — "  I  began. 

"No  —  no,"  she  answered,  swinging  her  horse 
around.  "  Will  you  be  ready  by  the  time  I  get  back  ?" 
she  added,  with  a  meaning  glance.  "I  won't  be  two 
minutes  unless  the  authorities  insist  on  reading  letters 
before  they're  posted.  Do  you  suppose  it's  come  to 
that  yet?" 

Gilbert  glanced  at  the  girl  with  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion, and  although  the  situation  was  advantageous 
to  me,  I  could  not  help  feeling  a  little  sorry  for 
him. 

"  I  don't  seem  to  be  in  on  this  joke,"  he  commented, 
ruefully. 

"No,  the  joke  is  on  us,"  she  retorted.  "The  first 
turning  to  the  left  is  our  best  road,  Mr.  Lambert," 
she  called  out  over  her  shoulder.  "Go  right  on  and 
I'll  overtake  you." 

The  prosecutor  raised  his  hat  as  the  girl  cantered 
off,  and  stood  staring  after  her  until  she  disappeared 
in  the  post-office.  Then  he  turned  to  me. 

"  Do  you  know  where  Miss  Frayne  went  this  morn- 
ing?" he  inquired,  thoughtfully. 

"I  met  her  coming  down  that  side  road,"  I  an- 
swered, non-committally,  pointing  behind  me. 

Gilbert  looked  puzzled  for  a  moment,  and  then 
snapped  his  fingers  with  vexation. 

"Of  course!"  he  exclaimed,  as  though  to  himself. 
"  I  might  have  known  it!  No  wonder  she's  provoked. 
Do  you  know  where  she's  going  after  she  posts  her 
letter?"  he  continued. 

'54 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Home,  I  think,"  I  answered. 

"She'll  get  caught  in  the  rain  if  she  tries  it,"  he 
muttered,  glancing  at  the  distant  bank  of  thunder- 
clouds. "Where  are  you  off  to?"  he  added,  sud- 
denly. 

"I'm  going  with  Miss  Frayne  as  far  as  Pollicet, 
and  then  on  to  Hefryville,"  I  responded,  carelessly. 

Gilbert  glanced  up  at  me  with  surprise,  and  I  con- 
fess I  enjoyed  his  evident  astonishment. 

"You  don't  really  mean  it?"  he  inquired,  incred- 
ulously, after  a  pause. 

"Most  assuredly,"  I  answered,  coolly.  "What  is 
there  so  surprising  about  it?" 

The  prosecutor  looked  up  sharply  as  I  answered, 
stared  at  me  for  an"  instant,  and  then  stood  patting 
my  horse's  head. 

"Why,  I  supposed—  "  he  began,  but  broke  off  sud- 
denly. 

"It's  not  much  of  a  trip  if  one  is  accustomed  to 
the  saddle,"  I  volunteered.  "I  haven't  ridden  for 
some  time,  though,  so  I  expect  to  be  rather  stiff  to- 
morrow." 

"  You'll  be  nothing  less  than  a  cripple,"  he  asserted. 

"I  can  drive  back  if  I'm  too  sore  for  riding  when 
I  reach  home,"  I  responded.  "Although  I  suppose 
it's  more  than  tempting  Fate  to  bring  another  wagon 
to  Melton,"  I  added,  smilingly. 

"Don't  you  think  the  whole  plan  is  more  than 
tempting  Fate,  Mr.  Lambert,"  he  inquired,  looking 
me  squarely  in  the  eyes. 
"  155 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"I  don't  think  I  understand  you."  I  answered, 
coldly. 

"  I  mean  it's  a  little  longer  ride  than  the  law  allows, 
Mr.  Lambert,"  he  responded. 

I  gazed  at  the  speaker  in  surprise.  What  was  he 
driving  at?  Was  he  merely  interested  in  having  all 
the  jurors  in  good  physical  condition,  or  was  he  at- 
tempting to  manoeuvre  me  out  of  supplanting  him 
with  Miss  Frayne? 

"It  doesn't  strike  me  as  very  rash,"  I  answered. 
"I  think  I  can  stand  it." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  risk  it  if  I  were  in  your  place," 
he  responded,  warningly. 

I  thought  I  detected  a  note  of  menace  in  his  tone, 
and  instantly  I  was  up  in  arms.  What  kind  of  an 
ass  did  the  man  take  me  for,  that  he  presumed  to 
volunteer  advice  about  my  comings  and  goings? 

"Wouldn't  you?"  I  queried,  with  a  smile  of  amuse- 
ment. 

"No,  I  would  not,"  he  answered,  firmly. 

The  tone  of  the  answer  was  decisive — almost  per- 
emptory— and  I  had  difficulty  in  curbing  my  resent- 
ment. 

"  But,  you  see,  you  are  not  in  my  place,  Mr.  Gilbert," 
I  answered,  coolly.  "Still  it  would  be  interesting  to 
know  your  reasons,"  I  added. 

"Haven't  I  already  given  them,  Mr.  Lambert?"  he 
laughed,  good-naturedly.  "Pollicet  is  a  long  way 
from  Melton,  and  Hefryville  is  even  farther." 

His  laugh  grated  upon  me  even  more  than  his 
156 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

warning  tone.  The  man  was  making  a  fool  of  him- 
self by  his  transparent  interest  in  my  welfare,  but  I 
had  no  intention  of  letting  him  fancy  he  was  making 
a  fool  of  me. 

"I  appreciate  your  solicitude,"  I  responded.  "But 
I'm  not  at  all  afraid  of  exhausting  myself,  and  I  hope 
you  won't  give  yourself  any  further  anxiety  on  my 
account." 

A  shade  of  annoyance  passed  over  the  prosecutor's 
face,  but  when  he  looked  up  again  he  was  as  imper- 
turbable as  ever. 

"It's  useless  for  us  to  talk  at  cross-purposes,  Mr. 
Lambert,"  he  announced.  "You  know  you've  no 
right  to  make  this  trip,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  put 
me  in  an  embarrassing  position." 

"Put  you  in  an  embarrassing  position?"  I  laughed. 
"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  and  I  don't 
care  to  hear." 

"  You  heard  what  the  Judge  said  in  court  this  morn- 
ing, and  that  ought  to  be  enough." 

Gilbert  had  suddenly  dropped  his  bantering,  jocular 
manner,  and  his  face  was  stern  and  masterful  as  he 
rapped  out  the  retort. 

"  I  heard  him  dismiss  us  for  the  day — if  that's  what 
you  mean,"  I  answered. 

"And  you  also  heard  him  expressly  state  that  you 
were  not  to  leave  the  town  without  his  special  per- 
mission." 

I  gazed  at  the  speaker  in  amazement,  for  I  never 
expected  him  to  carry  the  matter  as  far  as  this.  To 

157 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

put  words  in  the  Judge's  mouth  to  prevent  me  from 
taking  his  place  with  Miss  Frayne  was  not  only  con- 
temptible but  dangerous. 

"I  heard  him  say  nothing  of  the  sort,"  I  retorted, 
indignantly. 

"Then  you  must  have  left  the  room  before  he 
explained  himself,"  he  responded,  quietly.  "Any- 
way, you  know  it  now." 

"I  do  not  consider  myself  bound  by  what  you  tell 
me,"  I  asserted,  promptly. 

"Still,  I  hope  you  will  not  attempt  to  leave  Melton 
without  consulting  the  Judge,"  he  persisted. 

"I  am  entirely  able  to  take  care  of  myself,  Mr.  Gil- 
bert," I  retorted,  gathering  up  my  reins. 

But  the  prosecutor  did  not  seem  inclined  to  ter- 
minate the  interview. 

"I  don't  wonder  you're  annoyed,  Mr.  Lambert," 
he  commented,  sympathetically,  "and  if  this  were 
my  personal  case  I  wouldn't  say  a  word.  But,  you 
see,  if  I  let  you  go  beyond  the  proper  limits  without 
authority  there  might  be  some  danger  of  the  verdict 
being  set  aside,  and  I  can't  afford  to  subject  the 
People  to  any  such  risk." 

The  man  spoke  earnestly  and  disinterestedly,  and 
suddenly  I  remembered  Bayne's  effort  to  stop  me 
just  as  I  was  leaving  the  court-room.  What  if  the 
Judge  had  really  given  us  some  parting  instructions 
which  I  had  missed? 

"Where  ignorance  is  bliss  'tis  folly  to  be  wise," 
I  suggested,  lamely.  "If  it's  embarrassing  for  Mr. 

158 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

Gilbert  to  know  what  the  jurors  are  doing,  suppose 
he  remains  ignorant  of  my  whereabouts." 

"A  supposition  contrary  to  fact  leads  to  illogical 
results,  Mr.  Lambert,"  he  laughed.  "The  mischief 
is  done  and  can't  be  undone.  You  can  very  easily 
force  me  to  take  a  disagreeable  stand  in  this  matter, 
but  I  certainly  hope  you  won't  do  so." 

I  glanced  down  the  road  as  the  sound  of  approach- 
ing hoofs  reached  my  ear,  and  I  could  see  Miss  Frayne 
cantering  towards  us. 

"Do  you  contemplate  forbidding  me  to  accom- 
pany Miss  Frayne?"  I  inquired,  ironically. 

Gilbert  frowned  impatiently. 

"Do  be  reasonable,  Mr.  Lambert!"  he  exclaimed. 
"The  Court  has  already  forbidden  you  to  leave 
Melton,  and  I  am  merely  trying — " 

"To  play  policeman?"  I  interrupted,  sarcastically. 

"No.     To  play  fair,"  he  answered,  with  dignity. 

Miss  Frayne  was  already  passing  on  the  far  side 
of  the  road,  but  for  a  moment  I  hesitated  to  follow 
her.  She  rode  on  a  few  rods  and  then  halted  and 
turned  in  her  saddle. 

"Aren't  you  coming,  Mr.  Lambert?"  she  called, 
and  then,  as  she  noted  the  prosecutor's  hand  on  my 
bridle-rein,  she  added,  laughingly:  "Won't  Mr.  Gil- 
bert let  you  go?  I'm  sure  he  will  if  you  ask  him 
nicely." 

I  glanced  at  the  prosecutor.  His  hand  on  the 
bridle  was  a  liberty.  His  smile  was  an  offence. 

"I  will  take  all  responsibility  which  attaches  to 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

my  action,  Mr.  Gilbert,"  I  announced,  in  a  low  tone. 
"Good-morning,  sir." 

At  the  touch  of  my  heel  my  horse  sprang  forward, 
but  Gilbert  made  no  attempt  to  stop  me. 

"Don't  blame  me  for  what  happens,"  was  his  final 
warning. 

I  have  never  blamed  him  for  what  happened. 


XVIII 

GILBERT'S  prediction  of  a  thunder-storm  seemed 
likely  to  be  realized  before  Miss  Frayne  and  I 
were  fairly  started,  and  as  the  sky  darkened  we 
quickened  our  pace  until  we  were  flying  at  racing 
speed  along  the  dusty  highway.  My  companion 
rode  as  I  had  never  imagined  a  girl  could.  She  was 
as  much  a  part  of  her  horse  as  any  rider  of  the  plains, 
holding  the  animal  under  firm  control  without  nervous 
straining  of  the  arms,  and  sitting  well  back  in  her 
saddle  with  the  ease  and  confidence  of  the  born  horse- 
man. Even  when  our  excited  animals  threatened 
to  make  a  wild  race  of  it,  her  face  expressed  only  in- 
tense exhilaration  and  delight  in  joyous  response  to 
the  rushing  wind  and  the  glorious  motion  of  the 
gallop,  and  it  was  I  who  first  moderated  the  pace. 
A  few  scattered  raindrops  soon  hastened  us  on  again, 
however,  and  we  flew  forward  once  more  in  another 
mad  rush,  which  landed  us  safely  under  cover  of  a 
wagon-shed  just  as  the  storm  broke  out  in  all  the 
fury  of  a  tropical  thunder-shower. 

Before  I  was  able  to  assist  her,  my  companion 
jumped  lightly  to  the  ground  and  began  loosening  her 
saddle-girths,  and  I  followed  her  example,  and  then, 

161 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

seeing  that  both  horses  were  steaming  hot,  I  pushed 
a  farm -wagon  out  of  the  way  and  led  them  behind  it 
where  they  would  be  sheltered  from  the  wind.  A 
couple  of  canvas  curtains  hanging  from  the  rafters 
supplied  the  necessary  blankets,  and  I  soon  had  our 
mounts  as  comfortably  housed  as  they  would  have 
been  in  their  stables.  When  I  emerged  from  the  im- 
provised stalls  I  found  Miss  Barbara  seated  tailor- 
wise  on  the  bottom  of  a  big  hay  -  wagon  drying  her 
straw  hat  with  her  handkerchief. 

"Well,  you  look  comfortable,"  I  observed. 

"I  am,"  she  answered.  "That  gallop  cleared  my 
mind  and  renewed  my  spirits,  and  I  feel  bustingly 
buoyant  again.  Don't  you?" 

"'Bustingly  buoyant'  sounds  rather  dangerous," 
I  laughed. 

"It  is  dangerous,"  she  returned.  "That's  what 
makes  it  such  fun.  If  you've  never  felt  that  way  be- 
fore, you'd  better  begin  right  now." 

"  The  conditions  are  certainly  favorable,"  I  began. 

"The  conditions  are  certainly  favorable,"  she  re- 
peated, mockingly.  "I  love  your  beautiful  formal 
phrases,  but  please  don't  talk  like  a  minuet  to-day. 
I  shall  bump  you  terribly  if  you  do,  for  I  feel  like  a 
Virginia  reel.  Now  don't  look  frightened,  for  we'll 
begin  very  mildly  with  a  straw-ride.  Jump  in!" 

"A  straw -ride  without  bumping?"  I  suggested, 
climbing  over  the  front  wheel. 

"And  without  straw.  Isn't  that  ideal?  This  hay 
is  perfectly  luxurious.  Nothing  like  hay  for  a  cold 

162 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

in  the  head,  says  the  White  Knight,  but  I  say  nothing 
like  hay  for  a  straw-ride.     Don't  you  agree  with  me  ?" 

"Perfectly,"  I  responded,  dropping  into  the  cart. 
"But  my  experience  is  limited." 

"Your  education  has  been  sadly  neglected,"  she 
interrupted.  "I'm  going  to  take  it  in  hand  from 
now  on.  Which  reminds  me  that  we  haven't  settled 
on  a  date  for  your  coming-out  party.  When  is  it 
to  be?" 

"As  soon  as  I  am  free  again,"  I  answered,  seating 
myself  opposite  her. 

"And  when  will  that  be?" 

She  was  repinning  the  ribbon  which  she  had 
removed  from  her  hat  and  did  not  look  up  as  she 
spoke. 

"I  cannot  say,"  I  answered. 

"To-morrow?" 

"I  hardly  think  so." 

"The  next  day?" 

I  noted  the  anxious  tone  of  the  question,  but  made 
no  immediate  answer. 

"Time  is  for  slaves,  not  straw-rides,"  I  responded, 
after  a  pause. 

She  glanced  up  from  her  occupation  and  nodded. 

"Your  straw-riding  experience  is  not  so  limited 
but  you  learned  that,"  she  asserted,  knowingly. 

"It  is  limited  to  one  ride,"  I  answered. 

"Tell  me  about  that  one." 

"I'm  afraid  you  would  laugh  if  I  did." 

"I  promise  I  won't." 

163 


THE  ACCOMPLICE 

"But  you  might  think  it  a  breach  of  confidence." 

"It  won't  be  if  you  tell  it." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Because  I'm  certain  you  wouldn't  tell  it  if  it 
were." 

I  bowed  with  exaggerated  politeness. 

"Thank  you,  mademoiselle,  for  the  compliment," 
I  began,  "but—" 

"You  would  be  the  last  person  in  the  world  I  would 
try  to  compliment,"  she  interrupted,  with  sudden 
seriousness. 

"Why?" 

"Because  you  are  the  sort  of  man  who  instinctive- 
ly knows  the  truth  when  he  hears  it." 

Her  eyes  met  mine  as  she  spoke,  and  I  held  them 
for  a  moment  with  questioning  earnestness. 

"Do  you  really  believe  that?"  I  demanded. 

"I  am  absolutely  certain  of  it,  or  I  wouldn't  dare 
say  it." 

She  spoke  impulsively,  confidently,  and  her  tone 
and  manner  were  as  grave  as  they  had  been  gay  a 
moment  previous. 

"I  wish  I  could  think  you  were  right,"  I  answered, 
solemnly.  "But  your  other  mistake  has  shaken  my 
faith,"  I  added,  lightly. 

She  gazed  at  me  with  a  puzzled  expression. 

"What  other  mistake?"  she  queried. 

"Don't  you  remember  saying  that  my  face  ex- 
pressed my  thoughts  so  clearly  that  you  could  read 
them  at  a  glance?" 

164 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Certainly,  but — 

"But  you  didn't  do  it." 

"When?" 

"This  morning.     Did  you  read  my  thoughts  then ?" 

One  of  the  long  hat-pins  dropped  from  Miss  Bar- 
bara's fingers,  and  she  began  hunting  for  it  in  the 
hay. 

"When  you  were  playing  mirror?"  she  inquired, 
still  groping  for  the  pin. 

"Mirrors  merely  reflect,"  I  answered.  "They  do 
not  think.  Did  you  learn  my  thought  of  you?" 

"Of  me?     No." 

"Can  you  read  it  now?" 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  the  girl 
lifted  her  head  and  faced  me,  her  cheeks  crimsoning 
under  my  steady  gaze. 

"Can  you  read  mine?"  she  demanded,  smilingly. 

"My  question  came  first,"  I  protested. 

"It  will  chivalrously  yield  to  mine  though,  I  am 
sure,"  she  asserted.  "What  am  I  thinking  of?" 

I  hesitated  as  I  gazed  into  her  eyes,  but  her  glance 
never  wavered. 

"You  are  thinking  that  I  do  not  know  you  well 
enough  to  put  my  question,"  I  answered,  slowly. 

"Wrong,"  she  responded,  brightly.     "Try  again." 

"You  are  thinking  that  I  am  presumptuous  to 
suppose  you  would  care  to  read  what  you  have  seen 
and  now  see  in  my  eyes." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"You  are  a  poor  guesser,"  she  answered,  "or  else 
165 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

I  have  no  gift  of  facial  expression.  Do  you  give  me 
up?" 

"I  do  not,"  I  answered,  meaningly. 

"Then  what  am  I  thinking  of?"  she  demanded, 
ignoring  her  slip. 

"I  do  not  know,"  I  admitted. 

"Then  I'll  tell  you,"  she  responded,  confidentially. 
"I'm  thinking  of  food." 

"Of  food?" 

"Of  plain,  every -day,  common  or  garden  food. 
I'm  hungry." 

The  girl  leaned  forward,  resting  her  elbows  on  her 
knees  and  her  chin  in  her  hands  as  she  made  this 
tragic  announcement,  and  as  I  watched  the  comical 
expression  of  her  eyes  my  face  gradually  relaxed 
into  a  smile.  She  had  outmanoeuvred  me,  and  the 
most  graceful  move  for  me  was  to  capitulate  with  a 
laugh. 

"  I  ought  to  have  guessed  that  secret,"  I  exclaimed, 
looking  at  my  watch.  "  But  if  there  are  any  signs  of 
clearing  you  may  still  arrive  for  luncheon.  Are  we 
far  from  Pollicet?" 

"We're  much  nearer  Melton." 

"A  good  idea.     Let's  take  a  look  at  the  weather." 

I  jumped  from  the  wagon  and  held  out  my  hand 
as  she  sprang  lightly  from  the  wheel  to  the  ground.  It 
was  still  raining,  but  the  thunder  was  sounding  fainter 
with  every  rumble,  and  there  were  signs  of  a  break  in 
the  clouds  to  the  west  as  we  peered  from  our  shelter. 

"Suppose  we  saddle  the  horses  and  be  ready  to 
166 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

start  as  soon  as  the  rain  stops,"  I  suggested.     "We 
won't  have  long  to  wait." 

"Very  well,  but  let's  rub  the  poor  things  down 
first,"  she  responded.  "Bring  Dolly  out,  please,  and 
I'll  take  care  of  her.  Is  there  a  cloth  or  brush  lying 
anywhere  around?" 

"I'm  afraid  we'll  have  to  use  wisps  of  hay,"  I  an- 
swered, glancing  about  me. 

"Well,  if  we're  not  the  most  selfish  couple!"  she 
exclaimed,  contritely.  "Talk  about  dogs  in  the 
manger!  Think  of  our  making  cushions  of  this  hay 
with  two  hungry  horses  under  our  eyes.  It's  shame- 
ful! And  now  to  rub  them  down  with  it!" 

"That  is  really  rubbing  it  in — isn't  it?"  I  laughed, 
as  I  drew  off  Dolly's  canvas  blanket  and  led  her  out 
from  behind  the  wagon. 

"Poor  Dolly!"  murmured  Miss  Barbara,  sym- 
pathetically. "You  shall  have  a  bite,  dear,  anyway, 
while  I  brush  you  off." 

I  shall  never  forget  the  business-like  manner  in 
which  my  companion  rolled  up  her  sleeves  and 
hummed  to  the  mare  as  she  swept  over  its  glossy  coat. 
It  was  evident  that  this  was  not  the  first  time  she 
had  officiated  at  Dolly's  toilet,  and  I  can  testify  that 
she  performed  it  with  no  inexpert  hand. 

The  sky  had  grown  dark  again  as  we  worked,  but 
by  the  time  the  saddles  were  on  and  the  girths  ad- 
justed the  rain  had  stopped,  and  I  concluded  that 
we  had  better  make  the  best  of  the  opportunity  and 
try  to  reach  Melton  before  it  stormed  again. 

167 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Let's  run  for  it,"  I  suggested. 

"Very  well,"  she  answered,  motioning  me  to  swing 
her  into  the  saddle.  "Let's  ride  to  the  livery-stable, 
leave  the  horses  there,  and  then  I'll  take  you  to  the 
dearest  little  bakery —  What's  that  ?"  she  exclaimed, 
as  a  distant  rumble  reached  our  ears. 

I  swung  her  into  the  saddle,  and  rushing  into  the 
road  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  noise.  One  glance 
was  sufficient,  and  darting  back  to  the  shed  I  sprang 
upon  my  horse. 

"  It's  a  runaway  team  coming  this  way — just  crossed 
the  bridge!"  I  shouted,  urging  my  horse  forward. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  she  exclaimed,  fol- 
lowing me  closely. 

"Stop  it  if  I  can,"  I  answered.  "Look  out  for 
yourself!" 

The  team  was  less  than  a  hundred  yards  away 
as  I  spoke,  and  it  was  coming  at  whirlwind  speed, 
but  I  calculated  that  the  heavy  coach,  which  was 
swerving  from  side  to  side,  and  the  slight  up-grade 
would  check  the  frightened  horses  before  they  reached 
my  stand.  Even  as  this  thought  crossed  my  mind 
their  pace  slackened,  and  then  to  my  amazement  I 
saw  the  driver  raise  his  whip  and  lay  lash  after  lash 
upon  their  quivering  flanks. 

"Stop!     The  man's  mad!     Don't  try — " 
A  piercing  shriek  from  the  carriage  cut  off  my  com- 
panion's warning,  and  in  another  instant  the  team 
was  upon  me.     I  was  in  full  motion  when  my  hand 
grasped  the  rein  of  the  nigh  horse,  and  for  a  few  rods 

168 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

we  tore  along  together.  Then  suddenly  I  felt  a 
glancing  blow  on  my  head,  the  coach  struck  a 
bowlder,  and  the  driver  was  hurled  headlong  from  his 
seat.  The  relaxed  reins  gave  me  the  necessary  pur- 
chase, and  my  first  effort  proved  that  the  team  could 
easily  be  controlled  if  I  could  only  keep  them  in  the 
road,  but  as  I  pulled  they  crowded  me  to  one  side, 
and  I  was  soon  fighting  to  save  myself.  Closer  and 
closer  they  pressed  me  to  the  bank  until  it  was  no 
safer  to  let  them  go  and  have  the  carriage  crash  into 
me  than  it  was  to  cling  on  and  risk  being  crushed 
under  their  hoofs.  Suddenly  I  felt  them  swerve 
from  the  bank,  and  glancing  to  the  right  I  saw  Bar- 
bara Frayne  clinging  to  the  bridle  of  the  off  horse, 
and  before  another  hundred  yards  were  covered  the 
runaways  were  at  a  stand-still,  panting  with  exhaus- 
tion and  quivering  in  every  limb. 

"Bravo!  and  well  ridden,  comrade!"  I  shouted,  as 
soon  as  I  could  speak.  "Another  moment  and  I'd 
have  been  done  for!  I  owe  you — " 

"The  passengers!"  she  gasped,  pointing  to  the 
carriage. 

I  leaped  from  my  horse,  and  running  to  the  coach 
tried  to  open  the  door,  but,  finding  the  handle  missing, 
thrust  my  head  through  the  open  window  and  peered 
inside.  In  the  farther  corner  cowered  the  house- 
keeper, Madeleine  Mapes,  with  the  Field  girl  lying 
unconscious  in  her  arms. 


XIX 

AMAZED  as  I  was  at  my  discovery,  there  was  no 
/~V  opportunity  for  conjecture  or  question,  for  the 
condition  of  the  Field  girl  demanded  instant  atten- 
tion, and,  requesting  Miss  Frayne  to  leave  the  horses 
and  get  some  water,  I  hurried  to  the  other  door  of 
the  carriage  only  to  find  that  it,  too,  lacked  a  handle 
and  could  not  be  opened  either  from  without  or 
within.  A  resort  to  force  was  the  only  alternative, 
and  dragging  a  fence-rail  to  the  carriage  I  shoved  it 
through  one  of  the  windows  and  used  it  as  a  batter- 
ing-ram on  the  opposite  door  until  it  burst  open  with 
a  crash  of  splintered  wood-work.  In  another  instant 
I  had  the  unconscious  girl  on  the  grass  by  the  road- 
side and  Barbara  Frayne  and  Miss  Mapes  were  work- 
ing over  her  side  by  side.  Neither  woman  spoke  un- 
til the  patient  was  restored  to  consciousness,  but  the 
moment  she  opened  her  eyes  the  housekeeper  threw  her 
arms  about  Miss  Frayne,  who  returned  her  embrace 
with  equal  warmth,  and  the  two  remained  silently 
for  some  moments  clasped  in  each  other's  arms.  It 
was  the  first  sign  of  recognition  which  had  passed 
between  them,  and  I  was  fairly  astounded  by  the 
sight.  It  had  never  occurred  to  me  that  Barbara 

170 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

Frayne  might  know  more  than  one  member  of  the 
Shaw  household,  and  under  the  existing  circumstances 
the  housekeeper  was  the  last  woman  in  the  world  with 
whom  I  would  have  had  her  acquainted.  Miss 
Mapes's  first  words,  however,  assured  me  that  they 
had  never  met  before. 

"May  God  bless  you,  dear  Miss  Frayne!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  You  see,  I  know  the  name  of  my  preserver, 
even  if  she  doesn't  know  mine,"  she  added,  smilingly. 

"You  are  Miss  Mapes — aren't  you?"  Miss  Barbara 
queried,  hesitatingly. 

"Yes,  and  this  is  Betty  Field.  Have  you  ever 
heard  of  Betty?  No?"-  — the  housekeeper  stooped 
over  the  prostrate  girl,  and,  placing  her  arm  about 
her,  slowly  raised  her  to  a  sitting  position — "Betty," 
she  continued,  "this  is  Miss  Frayne — she  saved  us — 
saved  your  life  and  mine." 

"Indeed  I  didn't,"  protested  Miss  Frayne.  "Mr. 
Lambert  stopped  the  horses.  I  merely  helped  to 
keep  them  in  the  road." 

"Mr.  Lambert!" 

The  housekeeper's  arms  relaxed  and  allowed  her 
burden  to  sink  back  unnoticed  upon  the  grass  as 
she  leaned  forward  excitedly. 

"Not  Mr.  Lambert,  the  foreman?"  she  whispered, 
incredulously. 

Miss  Frayne  gazed  at  the  woman  in  surprise. 

"Yes.     What  is  there  so  startling  in  that?" 

"Why — er — I  don't  know —  Nothing,  I  suppose. 
Nothing  is  surprising  after —  Where  is  he?" 

171 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Within  ten  feet  of  you,"  answered  Miss  Barbara, 
in  a  warning  tone. 

I  could  feel  the  woman's  searching  glance  even 
with  my  back  turned,  but  I  continued  working  with 
the  horses  until  she  spoke  my  name. 

"Mr.  Lambert." 

I  turned  to  the  group  on  the  road-bank  and  nodded 
smilingly  to  Miss  Frayne. 

"Your  patient  is  herself  again?"  I  queried. 

The  housekeeper  rose  without  answering  and  came 
to  me,  holding  out  both  her  hands. 

"I  owe  my  life  to  you,  Mr.  Lambert,"  she  began. 
"I  and  this  girl  here.  All  we  can  do  is  to  pray  God 
to  bless  you  and  thank  Him  for  you." 

"I  am  glad  we  happened  to  be  here,"  I  answered, 
bluntly,  ignoring  her  out-stretched  hands.  "  Wouldn't 
it  be  well  to  get  that  young  woman  to  a  farm-house  ?" 
I  suggested,  turning  to  Miss  Frayne,  who  was  still 
chafing  the  girl's  hands. 

"Perhaps,"  she  answered.  "What  do  you  think, 
Miss  Mapes?" 

Then  suddenly  she  turned  to  me  with  an  expression 
of  horror. 

"The  driver!"  she  cried.  "We've  forgotten  the 
driver!" 

We  stared  at  one  another  for  a  moment  in  silence, 
and  then  I  hastily  tied  my  horse  to  the  nearest  fence- 
rail  and  started  down  the  road. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  called  Miss  Mapes,  hurrying 
after  me.  "I'll  help,  though  God  knows  the  devil 

172 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

doesn't  deserve  any  help.  He  tried  to  murder  you, 
Mr.  Lambert,"  she  added,  in  a  low  tone,  as  she  over- 
took me. 

I  stopped  and  stared  in  amazement  at  the  woman. 

"Tried  to  murder  me?"  I  ejaculated,  incredulously. 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  just  what  I  say,"  she  panted.  "God  knows 
why  he  did  it,  but  I  saw  it  all  as  plainly  as  I  see  you, 
and  if  something  hadn't  thrown  him  off  his  balance 
he'd  have  brained  you  with  the  butt  of  his  whip. 
Why,  he  struck  at  you  like  this!" 

The  woman  raised  her  arm  high  above  her  head 
and  brought  it  down  with  all  her  strength,  and  as 
she  did  so  I  remembered  having  felt  something  graze 
my  head  just  before  the  man  fell. 

"Was  he  drunk  or  crazy?"  I  demanded,  searching 
for  his  body  in  the  long  grass. 

"God  knows,  Mr.  Lambert — I  don't;  and  I  don't 
like  to  think." 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  be  with  him  ?"  I  inquired, 
indifferently. 

"It  was  just  a  chance,  sir  —  the  merest  chance. 
Betty  and  I  went  to  town  this  morning  to  make  some 
purchases,  and  while  we  were  there  it  came  on  to 
rain  and  I  asked  a  young  man  standing  in  front  of 
one  of  the  shops  to  get  us  a  carriage  from  the  livery- 
stable.  He  was  gone  a  long  time,  and  when  he  re- 
turned he  said  he'd  had  some  trouble  in  finding  a 
covered  conveyance,  but  that  he'd  got  one  at  last. 
Then  this  hack  drove  up,  and  I  told  the  driver  to  take 

i73 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

us  to  the  railroad  depot.  He  started,  but  we  hadn't 
gone  a  hundred  yards  before  he  turned  into  a  side 
road  and  began  driving  like  mad  in  the  opposite  di- 
rection. I  hammered  on  the  window  and  called  out, 
but  he  went  on  thrashing  the  horses,  and  when  I 
thrust  my  head  out  and  screamed  at  him  he  lashed 
me  across  the  face.  You  can  see  the  mark." 

I  glanced  at  the  woman's  face,  across  which  a  red 
welt  was  plainly  visible,  mutely  vouching  for  her 
story. 

"It  was  somewhere  about  here  he  fell,  wasn't  it?" 
I  inquired. 

"Farther  back,  I  think,"  she  answered. 

"And  the  girl  with  you  fainted?"  I  prompted. 

"She  tried  to  open  the  doors  and  get  out,  but  the 
handles  were  broken  off.  Then  she  tried  to  jump 
through  the  window,  but  I  held  her  back.  It  was 
when  she  saw  him  strike  at  you  that  she  fainted. 
Here's  where  he  did  it,  Mr.  Lambert,"  she  continued, 
excitedly.  "See!  Here's  the  stone  we  hit,  and 
here's  where  the  wheels  slewed  across  the  road,  and 
here's  his  hat,  and — 

"Here  he  is,"  I  interrupted,  for  I  had  stumbled 
over  the  man's  body  as  she  was  speaking,  and  was 
already  kneeling  beside  him.  He  was  cut  on  the 
forehead,  but  though  unconscious  he  was  still  breath- 
ing, and  plucking  a  handful  of  wet  grass  I  began 
wiping  away  the  blood  from  his  face. 

"Good  God!" 

I  looked  up  and  saw  the  housekeeper  peering  over 
i74 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

my  shoulder  at  the  man's  ghastly  face  with  an  ex- 
pression of  horror,  and  before  I  could  question  her 
she  swooped  down  and  plucked  his  beard,  which 
yielded  to  her  touch,  revealing  the  features  of  Bar- 
stow's  man  Hunt. 

I  do  not  know  what  saved  me  from  uttering  the 
exclamation  of  surprise  which  rose  to  my  lips,  but 
I  made  no  sound,  and  when  the  housekeeper  looked 
up  at  me  wild-eyed  with  terror,  I  met  her  with  a 
glance  of  calm  self-control. 

"The  gentleman  evidently  disguised  himself,"  I 
observed. 

I  could  see  the  woman  surreptitiously  watching  me 
as  I  worked  to  restore  the  man  to  consciousness,  her 
face  gray  with  fear,  and  I  knew  the  doubts  which 
racked  her.  Should  she  acknowledge  her  acquaint- 
ance with  the  man  and  risk  my  further  questioning, 
or  should  she  deny  him  and  chance  his  supporting 
her  when  he  regained  his  senses  ?  Either  course  was 
dangerous,  but  which  was  the  more  perilous  depend- 
ed upon  whether  the  man  was  a  kidnapper  or  a  con- 
federate. I  could  easily  have  forced  her  to  a  de- 
cision, but  I  deemed  it  wiser  to  watch  her  and  wait 
the  course  of  events.  This  would  be,  perhaps,  my 
only  opportunity  outside  of  the  court-room  to  sub- 
stantiate my  suspicions,  and  I  must  make  the  best 
of  it.  The  injured  man,  however,  opened  his  eyes 
before  the  housekeeper  committed  herself  in  any 
way,  and  if  he  was  aware  of  her  presence  his  face 
did  not  betray  it.  Certainly  he  did  not  recognize 

175 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

me,  and  the  first  words  he  uttered  showed  that  his 
mind  was  affected. 

"No,  sir,"  he  muttered,  in  a  dull,  wandering  tone, 
looking  straight  into  my  eyes  and  apparently  ad- 
dressing me.  "No — I've  done  a  great  deal — enough 
— too  much.  That's  kidnapping.  Leave  alone — 
leave  her  alone,  I  say.  Give  her  rope  enough  and 
she'll  hang  herself.  No.  I  won't — too  risky — won't 
work.  Didn't  I  tell  you  it  was  foolish  to — foreman. 
State  line  five  miles  ?  It's  six!  Seven!  Get  some  one 
else — I  won't —  Yes,  yes,  yes,  I  will!"  he  shrieked, 
starting  up  with  a  look  of  terror.  "  I'll  do  it — I'll  do — " 

Suddenly  his  eyes  focussed  on  Miss  Mapes's  face, 
and  his  expression  of  horror  turned  to  a  horrid  grin 
which  changed  to  laughter  as  he  pointed  a  trembling 
finger  at  the  woman. 

"You —  You'll  kill — kill  her,  sure.  You're  dead, 
anyway —  Any  time  we  like!  Ha,  ha! — "  he  laugh- 
ed. "Hi,  there!  Get  along!  That  '11  make  you 
smarter!  Skip  now!" 

He  swung  an  imaginary  whip  over  his  head,  and 
then  sank  back  exhausted. 

I  glanced  at  the  housekeeper  as  the  man's  eyes 
closed  again,  and  found  her  gaze  fixed  upon  me. 

"We  must  get  help,"  I  began.  "This  fellow  is 
badly  injured." 

"  He's  mad!  Quite  mad!"  she  exclaimed,  nervous- 
ly, rising  to  her  feet.  "If  I'd  only  noticed  it  before 
we  started,"  she  muttered.  "I'll  try  to  get  some- 
body from  one  of  the  farm-houses." 

176 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

She  fled  down  the  road,  and  I  watched  her  retreat- 
ing figure  until  a  feeble  muttering  again  diverted  my 
attention  to  the  man.  I  bent  over  him  and  listened 
eagerly  to  his  ramblings  as  I  bathed  his  forehead, 
but  I  could  make  nothing  of  his  disjointed  sentences. 

Presently  the  sound  of  hoof -beats  reached  my  ear, 
and  glancing  over  my  shoulder  I  saw  the  housekeeper 
approaching  hurriedly,  accompanied  by  a  man  on 
horseback. 

The  new-comer  sprang  from  his  saddle  as  he  saw 
me. 

"What,  Mr.  Lambert!"  he  called  out.  "I  didn't 
expect  to  find  you  here,  sir." 

I  stared  at  the  speaker  in  surprise,  and  at  the 
same  instant  recognized  him  as  Mr.  Gilbert's  associ- 
ate. 

"Mr.  Corning!"  I  exclaimed.  "Where  did  Miss 
Mapes  find  you?" 

The  assistant  prosecutor  instantly  turned  to  the 
woman  beside  him. 

"Mapes?"  he  repeated.  "Why,  of  course!  You're 
Madeleine  Mapes.  I  didn't  recognize  you  in  the  ex- 
citement of  the  moment,  although  you're  the  very 
person  I  most  wanted  to  see.  Will  you  be  good 
enough  to  take  this,  please?"  he  continued,  pulling  a 
paper  from  his  pocket  and  thrusting  it  into  her 
hand. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  inquired,  dumbly,  staring  at  the 
document. 

"It's  a  subpoena  to  attend  court  to-morrow  as  a 
177 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

witness  in  the  Emory  case,"  he  answered,  coolly,  as 
he  bent  over  the  body  of  the  wounded  man.  "  We 
must  get  this  fellow  into  a  farm  -  house,  Mr.  Lam- 
bert," he  continued,  glancing  up  at  me.  "He's  hard 
hit." 

But  my  eyes  were  on  the  housekeeper's  face  as 
he  addressed  me,  and  I  confess  I  thrilled  with  all  the 
savagery  of  a  hunter  as  I  noted  that  she  was  hit  the 
harder  of  the  two. 


XX 


A  SLEEPLESS  night  usually  seems  interminable, 
but  the  hours  I  tossed  and  turned  on  my  bed  in 
the  Melton  House  after  that  day's  experience  fairly 
flew  on  black  wings,  and  no  criminal  awaiting  execu- 
tion ever  shunned  the  approaching  dawn  more 
shudderingly  than  I  as  the  sun  rose  on  the  fourth  day 
of  the  Emory  trial.  The  duty  which  had  been 
imposed  on  me  had  depressed  me  from  the  start,  and 
it  had  grown  more  burdensome  with  every  step, 
until  I  fairly  staggered  under  its  weight. 

When  the  suspicion  of  the  housekeeper's  guilt 
first  entered  my  mind,  I  believed  a  brilliant  oppor- 
tunity lay  before  me ;  but  as  I  struggled  through  the 
long  hours  of  the  night  another  possibility  presented 
itself  and  added  to  my  responsibilities.  Suppose 
that  only  a  part  of  my  suspicions  were  justified,  and 
that,  instead  of  clearing  the  defendant,  I  merely  suc- 
ceeded in  unearthing  her  accomplice? 

This  thought  no  sooner  crossed  my  mind  than  it 
took  possession  of  it,  calling  up  facts  and  circum- 
stances to  give  it  substance  and  support.  The  two 
women  were  friends.  They  had  lived  in  the  same 
house  and  doubtless  knew  each  other's  secrets. 

179 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

Barstow  had  evidently  persuaded  the  housekeeper 
to  leave  the  State  during  the  preliminary  investiga- 
tions, and  his  advice  was  fully  justified  by  the  little  I 
knew.  She  had  almost  admitted  in  my  hearing  that 
she  had  secretly  destroyed  a  blue  skirt — presumably 
Miss, Emory's — and  she  had  threatened  the  Field  girl 
into  silence  concerning  it.  Now  she  had  returned 
within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  court,  the  prosecution 
had  summoned  her  as  a  witness,  and  I  knew,  if  Gil- 
bert did  not,  that  she  had  occupied  Alice  Emory's 
room  on  the  night  Shaw's  life  was  taken.  What  was 
the  significance  of  these  ugly  facts?  Was  there  a 
single  circumstance  among  them  all  which  pointed 
clearly  to  the  defendant's  innocence  ?  On  the  con- 
trary, was  she  not  involved  in  all  the  new  develop- 
ments ? 

What  was  the  truth  concerning  the  runaway 
team?  Had  the  housekeeper  repented  her  temerity 
at  the  last  moment,  and  attempted  to  put  herself  and 
the  Field  girl  beyond  reach  of  the  prosecutor's 
subpoena,  or  had  Barstow  kidnapped  the  two  women 
and  ordered  Hunt  to  get  them  over  the  State  line 
and  keep  them  out  of  harm's  way  until  the  trial  was 
over?  Hunt's  disjointed  sentences  seemed  to  leave 
the  matter  in  no  doubt — but  could  I  rely  on  them  ? 

The  conversation  at  the  farm-house  proved  that 
Barstow  and  Miss  Mapes  were  at  odds  over  the  proper 
policy  to  be  pursued,  and  it  might  be  that  the  lawyer 
had  resorted  to  force  rather  than  submit  to  a  dis- 
arrangement of  his  plans.  Moreover,  the  condition 

1 80 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

of  the  carriage  doors  was  suspicious  evidence  that 
its  occupants  were  prisoners.  But  if  this  were  the 
true  explanation  of  the  affair,  it  demonstrated  the 
importance  which  Barstow  attached  to  the  women's 
testimony.  He  would  never  have  incurred  the  risk 
of  carrying  them  off  unless  their  presence  seriously 
threatened  his  client.  Had  I  interfered  with  one  of 
his  measures  for  her  safety  and  enabled  the  prosecu- 
tion to  procure  testimony  which  would  incriminate 
or  convict  her  ?  Was  it  not  enough  that  I  should  be 
charged  with  judging  Barbara  Frayne's  friend  with- 
out being  fated  to  supply  the  proof  against  her? 

Thus  all  night  long  my  mind  evolved  questions 
and  answers,  and  questions  without  answers  leading 
to  more  questions  still,  until  I  fell  asleep  from  sheer 
exhaustion  just  as  the  breakfast-bell  was  ringing; 
and  when  I  reached  the  dining-room  I  found  the 
other  jurors  had  already  started  for  the  court.  I 
had  no  appetite,  however,  and,  after  vainly  attempt- 
ing to  force  myself  to  eat,  I  rose  from  the  table  and 
reluctantly  followed  my  associates. 

I  think  the  court-room  was  even  more  crowded 
than  on  the  first  day  of  the  trial,  and  as  I  elbowed  my 
way  to  the  jury-box  I  was  more  painfully  aware  of 
the  concentrated  stare  of  the  spectators  than  ever 
before.  I  was  conscious,  too,  of  a  change  in  the 
atmosphere  of  the  place  which  filled  me  with  dread. 
Formerly  the  audience  had  been  curious  and  apa- 
thetic. Now  I  felt  it  was  curious  and  unsympathetic, 
wanting  only  slight  provocation  to  become  hard  and 

181 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

cruel,  and  I  remembered  with  a  sinking  heart  that  each 
succeeding  exhibition  in  the  Roman  amphitheatre 
counted  a  greater  number  of  inverted  thumbs. 

"The  Judge  wants  to  see  you  in  his  private  room," 
whispered  a  court-attendant  in  my  ear. 

I  started  at  the  summons,  but  rose  and  followed 
the  man,  feeling  every  eye  in  the  place  upon  me  as  I 
crossed  the  room. 

Judge  Dudley  acknowledged  my  entrance  with  a 
grave  inclination  of  his  head  as  the  door  closed  be- 
hind me,  but  his  reception  was  far  from  cordial. 
Indeed,  his  severe  expression  so  completely  occupied 
my  attention  that  I  did  not  immediately  observe  that 
Gilbert  and  Barstow  were  also  present.  Before  I 
could  conjecture  what  was  coming,  his  Honor  in- 
terrupted my  thought  by  ordering  me  to  sit  down. 

"Mr.  Lambert,"  he  began,  "I  was  yesterday 
advised  that  you,  the  foreman  of  this  jury,  contem- 
plated disobeying  the  orders  of  this  Court  and  were 
only  prevented  from  so  doing  by  accident.  I  take 
occasion  to  inform  you,  sir,  that  a  bench  -  warrant 
was  issued  for  your  arrest  and  would  have  been 
executed  had  not  Mr.  Corning  found  you  within  in- 
stead of  without  the  limits  of  Melton  township. 
Now,  sir,  quite  apart  from  any  question  of  the  re- 
spect which  you  owe  this  Court,  I  am  surprised  that 
a  gentleman  of  your  intelligence  should  jeopardize 
the  comfort  of  his  fellow  -  jurors,  to  say  nothing 
of  imperilling  the  conduct  of  this  case,  by  taking 
undue  advantage  of  the  liberty  accorded  him.  I 

182 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

have  refrained  from  enforcing  strict  custody  of  the 
jury,  and  it  is  entirely  due  to  these  gentlemen  " — he 
waved  his  hand  towards  the  lawyers — "that  I  do  not 
now  do  so.  However,  I  warn  you  that  no  infraction  of 
either  the  letter  or  the  spirit  of  my  orders  will  be 
tolerated  in  future,  and  if  you  have  no  consideration 
for  the  comfort  of  your  associates  you  will  do  well 
to  have  regard  for  your  own  safety.  That  is  all  I 
have  to  say,  sir.  You  may  now  return  to  your  place 
in  the  jury-box." 

I  rose  from  my  seat,  flushing  with  indignation. 
I  had  been  scolded  like  a  school-boy,  but  I  did  not 
propose  to  be  dismissed  like  one. 

"If  your  Honor  will  permit  me —  '  I  began,  with 
dignity. 

"No  speeches,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Lambert,"  the 
Judge  interrupted,  curtly.  "I  know  your  excuse, 
and  it  is  not  good.  You  may  retire,  sir." 

"But,  your  Honor—  "  I  protested,  hotly. 

The  old  man  turned  on  me,  his  eyes  flashing  and 
his  underlip  protruding  dangerously. 

"You  may  retire,  Mr.  Lambert!"  he  thundered. 
"Did  you  hear  me?  You  may  retire!" 

I  backed  towards  the  door  and  re-entered  the 
court-room,  my  face  still  hot  with  anger.  Before 
my  fellow- jurors  could  question  me,  however,  an 
attendant  announced  the  advent  of  the  Judge,  and 
his  Honor  took  his  place  upon  the  bench.  Then,  as 
my  eyes  fell  upon  Gilbert,  my  wrath  received  fresh 
impulse,  and  I  fairly  boiled  with  indignation.  He 

183 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

had  taken  a  contemptible  advantage  of  an  opportu- 
nity to  humiliate  and  embarrass  me,  and  the  fact  that 
I  could  neither  retaliate  nor  show  my  resentment 
did  not  serve  to  comfort  me.  There  was  some  com- 
pensation, however,  in  remembering  my  morning 
with  Miss  Frayne,  and  I  dwelt  upon  it  with  cooling 
satisfaction  as  the  clerk  called  the  roll  of  the  jury. 
Before  the  last  man  answered  to  his  name,  however, 
Judge  Dudley  stopped  the  proceedings  with  a  rap 
of  his  gavel  on  the  desk. 

"Wait  a  moment!"  he  ordered,  glancing  over  the 
room.  "The  defendant  is  not  present.  What  does 
this  mean,  Mr.  Barstow?" 

The  lawyer  arose,  and,  stepping  to  the  railing,  laid 
his  hands  upon  it  and  gazed  earnestly  at  the  Judge 
until  he  held  the  attention  of  every  man  and  woman 
in  the  room. 

"  If  your  Honor  please,"  he  began,  in  a  low  tone, 
but  which  could  be  distinctly  heard  in  the  farthest 
corner  of  the  room,  "I  must  crave  the  indulgence  of 
the  Court  for  my  client  this  morning.  I  rose  from  a 
sick-bed  myself,  only  a  few  hours  ago,  to  find  Miss 
Emory  so  seriously  indisposed  that  I  insisted  upon 
her  seeing  a  physician  before  she  attempted  to  ap- 
pear in  court.  I  have  word,  however,  that  she  is 
now  on  her  way  here,  and  I  trust  your  Honor  will 
overlook  the  delay." 

Gilbert  caught  the  Judge's  eye  as  Barstow  ceased 
speaking,  and  immediately  addressed  the  Court. 

"I  will  very  willingly  consent  to  an  adjournment 
184 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

if  my  opponent  considers  his  client  physically  un- 
equal to  continue  the  trial,"  he  announced. 

"I  appreciate  my  learned  adversary's  attitude," 
answered  Barstow,  promptly.  "And  I  would  gladly 
avail  myself  of  his  courtesy,  but  my  client  desires 
the  case  to  continue  without  delay,  and  I  agree  that 
if  she  can  possibly  be  present  it  is  only  fair  to  the 
Court  and  the  jurors,  to  say  nothing  of  counsel  and 
witnesses,  that  she  make  the  effort.  We  are  ready  to 
proceed  at  once,  sir,"  he  added,  as  a  young  man  entered 
the  court-room  and  whispered  something  in  his  ear. 

The  Judge  nodded,  and  Barstow  immediately  fol- 
lowed the  messenger  out  of  the  room. 

A  buzz  of  conversation  instantly  began  all  over 
the  room,  and  I  thought  I  could  detect  sympathetic 
glances  passing  between  the  spectators  as  they  talked. 
I  had  feared  an  unfavorable  impression  might  be 
created  by  the  prisoner's  illness.  But  it  had  appar- 
ently softened  and  humanized  them. 

At  last  the  door  opened,  and  every  eye  in  the 
room  turned  to  it  as  the  defendant  entered,  leaning 
heavily  on  her  counsel's  arm.  She  was  very  pale,  but 
the  same  calm,  resolute,  fearless  expression  was  in 
her  eyes,  and  I  was  impressed  anew  with  the  sweet- 
ness and  gentleness  of  her  face.  Instinctively  I  felt 
a  tide  of  sympathy  and  pity  surging  around  her  as 
she  moved  slowly  towards  the  counsel's  table  down 
the  narrow  aisle  lined  with  faces,  and,  conscious  of 
its  effect  upon  myself,  I  glanced  inquiringly  at  the 
hardened  court  officials,  and  saw  that  even  they 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

seemed  moved  to  compassion  at  the  sight  of  the 
frail  little  woman  courageously  facing  her  judges  and 
accusers. 

Barstow  appeared  wholly  unconscious  of  the  spec- 
tators, for  his  gaze  was  centred  on  his  client's  face 
with  a  tenderness  almost  womanly  in  its  sympathy, 
and  as  I  watched  him — his  great,  coarse,  red  paw  rest- 
ing gently  and  comfortingly  on  the  small  hand  laid 
within  his  supporting  arm — I  modified  my  harsh 
judgment  of  the  man  and  almost  forgot  my  sus- 
picions against  him. 

The  little  procession  halted  before  the  counsel's 
table,  and  Barstow  tenderly  supported  his  client  as 
she  slowly  sank  into  her  chair,  and  then,  laying  his 
hand  encouragingly  upon  her  shoulder,  whispered  a 
few  words  in  her  ear  and  remained  gazing  earnestly 
into  her  eyes  until  he  received  her  answer.  Then  he 
turned  to  the  Bench,  as  aggressive  and  determined 
as  ever. 

"We  are  ready  to  proceed,  your  Honor,"  he  an- 
nounced, in  the  firm,  clear  voice  of  challenge. 

The  picture  had  been  touching  and  pitiful.  It 
was  now  brave  and  dramatic,  and  as  I  thrilled  to  it 
I  thought  the  whole  room  thrilled  with  me. 

Then  Bayne  touched  me  with  his  foot,  and,  turn- 
ing, I  saw  him  trace  four  letters  on  his  knee  — 
S,  H,  A,  M. 


XXI 

THE  shock  of  Bayne's  mute  message  numbed  me 
for  an  instant,  but  when  I  fully  realized  its 
meaning  I  felt  resentful  and  irritated.  I  was  pro- 
voked with  my  associate  for  presuming  to  warn  me 
against  being  hoodwinked,  and  annoyed  with  myself. 
A  cheap  trick  to  catch  the  jury's  sympathy  was  quite 
in  line  with  Barstow's  other  dubious  tactics,  but  to 
admit  that  he  had  attempted  it  was  to  acknowledge 
that  I  had  been  caught,  and  I  covertly  scanned  the 
faces  of  the  other  occupants  of  the  jury-box  to  dis- 
cover what  impression  had  been  made  upon  them  by 
the  scene  we  had  just  witnessed.  The  result  was  not 
reassuring.  There  was  no  indication  of  concern  or 
sympathy  in  any  of  the  juror's  faces.  Indeed,  I 
thought  I  detected  signs  of  impatience  and  disgust 
in  more  than  one  countenance,  and  I  reluctantly 
reached  the  conclusion  that  I  was  the  only  man  who 
had  been  deceived  by  Barstow's  cheap  manoeuvre. 
But  while  I  admitted  this  to  myself,  I  was  conscious 
of  resenting  the  failure  of  the  trick  rather  than  the 
trick  itself. 

Barstow  had  at  first  impressed  me  as  an  able  man, 
truculent  and  disagreeable,  but  keen  and  resourceful. 
"  187 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

His  conduct  of  the  case,  however,  had  been  singularly 
disappointing.  His  defence  had  been  watchful,  but 
his  offence  was  feeble,  and  his  strategy  not  only  in- 
effective, but  unscrupulous.  But  if  I  had  lost  all 
confidence  in  his  generalship,  it  was  evident  that  the 
defendant  did  not  share  my  misgiving.  Her  face 
expressed  implicit  trust  and  confidence  in  her  adviser, 
and  as  I  watched  her  eyes  following  his  every  move- 
ment, I  experienced  a  feeling  of  intense  pity  for  the 
woman  and  a  desire  to  protect  her  from  the  errors  of 
the  blundering  bully  to  whom  she  had  intrusted  her 
life.  I  had  no  legal  training  whatever,  but  I  argued 
that  I  was  in  a  better  position  than  any  lawyer  to 
judge  the  necessities  of  the  case,  and  I  determined  to 
draw  attention  to  Madeleine  Mapes  at  the  first  op- 
portunity and  save  a  miscarriage  of  justice. 

My  resolve  was  no  sooner  taken  than  Barstow 
proceeded  to  justify  it  by  a  move  which  to  my  mind 
was  recklessly  foolish,  for  he  at  once  recalled  the 
disastrous  close  of  the  last  day  by  moving  to  strike 
the  bank  cashier's  testimony  from  the  record.  The 
witness  had  had  no  right,  he  declared,  to  testify  that 
the  checks  with  the  doubtful  signatures  had  all  been 
drawn  to  the  order  of  Alice  Emory.  The  papers 
themselves,  he  insisted,  were  the  best  evidence  of 
what  they  contained,  and  he  demanded  that  they  be 
produced  if  any  inference  was  to  be  drawn  from  their 
contents. 

The  only  effect  of  this  speech  was  to  emphasize  an 
injurious  fact,  for  Gilbert  immediately  pointed  out 

188 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

that  Barstow  himself  had  opened  the  door  for  the 
cashier's  disclosure  by  introducing  the  subject  of  the 
disputed  checks,  and  that  having  done  so  it  was  too 
late  for  him  to  shut  out  unfavorable  answers.  The 
Judge  promptly  agreed  with  him,  and  the  defendant's 
counsel  took  an  exception  to  the  ruling  of  the  Court. 

I  had  heard  Barstow  utter  the  word  "exception" 
on  other  occasions  when  the  Judge  had  decided 
against  him,  but  not  until  then  did  I  realize  his  pur- 
pose. He  was  recording  all  possible  errors  of  the 
Court  on  technical  points  of  law,  in  the  hope  of  over- 
turning the  verdict  in  a  higher  court.  He  was  in- 
trenching himself  against  the  hour  of  defeat — falling 
back  upon  his  lines  of  retreat !  My  heart  sank  at  the 
discovery.  If  he  was  relying  on  such  tactics  he 
must  have  very  little  confidence  in  his  cause.  The 
thought  aroused  my  indignation  and  lent  fresh  im- 
pulse to  my  plan  of  action.  If  he  had  given  up  the 
fight,  I  had  not  even  begun  fighting,  but  when  I  did 
I  would  surrender  only  when  my  faith  was  shattered 
and  my  every  conviction  captured. 

"Dr.  MacLean,  please  take  the  stand." 

The  physician  who  had  testified  at  the  first  hearing 
rose  at  Gilbert's  bidding,  and  as  he  seated  himself  in 
the  witness  -  chair  I  ceased  to  be  a  mere  spectator 
and  became  a  volunteer. 

Dr.  MacLean  testified  that  he  was  Mr.  Gregory 
Shaw's  executor,  acting  under  a  will  made  more  than 
a  year  before  the  testator's  death,  and  which  had  been 
regularly  proved  as  his  last  will  and  testament. 

189 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Was  there  any  effort  made  by  any  one,  doctor, 
to  prove  the  will  leaving  all  Mr.  Shaw's  property  to 
his  wife  Alice?" 

Gilbert  held  the  disputed  document  in  his  hand  as 
he  put  the  question. 

"No  one  appeared  especially  in  support  of  that 
paper,"  the  witness  answered,  "but  it  was  submitted 
to  the  Court  and  rejected." 

Gilbert  then  offered  in  evidence  the  record  of  the 
probate  court  admitting  the  one  will  and  rejecting 
the  other,  and  after  a  long  wrangle  between  the 
lawyers  the  Judge  received  the  proof,  his  decision 
being  again  followed  by  Barstow's  ominous  "Ex- 
ception!" 

The  admission  of  this  evidence  did  not  seem  im- 
portant to  me.  Of  course  it  went  far  to  prove  that 
the  "wife"  will  was  a  forgery,  but  it  by  no  means 
demonstrated  that  the  defendant  had  forged  that 
document,  which  was  the  real  point  at  issue.  But 
Barstow  apparently  scented  danger,  and  when  he 
turned  to  cross-examine  the  physician  he  was  in  his 
ugliest  mood. 

I  had  been  favorably  impressed  by  Dr.  MacLean. 
He  was  a  grave,  earnest  man,  dignified  in  his  bearing, 
precise  in  his  speech,  and  apparently  conscientious, 
but  the  moment  his  eyes  met  Barstow's  glare  I  could 
see  there  was  no  love  lost  between  the  two  men. 

"You  are  familiar  with  Mr.  Shaw's  handwriting, 
are  you  not,  doctor?"  Barstow  began,  in  a  sharp 
tone. 

190 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Yes,  sir — tolerably  so,"  the  physician  answered. 

"Why  so  cautious,  doctor?"  the  cross-examiner 
queried.  "Haven't  you  seen  him  write  hundreds  of 
times  and  received  countless  communications  from 
him?" 

"I  am  familiar  with  his  writing,  sir." 

"Then  say  so,  doctor!  You're  not  afraid  of  drop- 
ping a  word  which  might  favor  this  defendant,  are 
you?" 

The  witness  flushed  angrily  at  the  insinuating 
question. 

"You  know  I  am  not,  sir!"  he  responded,  indig- 
nantly. 

"It  is  not  a  question  of  what  I  know,  but  of  what 
you  know,  doctor.  We  want  the  full  benefit  of  your 
knowledge,  without  tags  or  mental  reservations. 
Knowing  the  handwriting  of  the  deceased  as  you 
do,  are  you  positive  that  this  is  his  signature?" 

The  lawyer  held  out  the  will  of  which  the  witness 
was  executor. 

"I  certainly  am." 

"You  are  positive?" 

"Quite." 

"And  this  signature  on  the  'wife'  will — you  be- 
lieve this  to  be  a  forgery?" 

Barstow  thrust  the  document  towards  the  witness, 
but  the  physician  stared  through  his  gold-rimmed 
spectacles  at  his  questioner  and  sat  back  in  his  chair 
without  glancing  at  the  paper. 

"It  is  not  important  what  I  believe,"  he  an- 
191 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

swered,  after  a  pause.     "The  question  of  forgery  is 
for  the  Court  to  decide." 

"Still  cautious,  I  see,  doctor,"  Barstow  sneered. 
"Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  cautious  Congressman  who 
copyrighted  his  speech  ?  Well,  he  died  of  his  trouble, 
and  you're  injuring  yourself.  Won't  you  answer  my 
question  if  you've  nothing  to  conceal  ?  Do  you  be- 
lieve this  signature  on  the  '  wife '  will  to  be  a  forgery  ?" 

The  witness  hesitated  and  then  shot  out  his  answer 
like  a  retort. 

"Yes,  sir— I  do!" 

Barstow  greeted  the  answer  with  a  savage  smile. 

"Good!"  he  ejaculated.  "You  can  answer  when 
you  want  to,  I  see.  Now,  tell  us  how  those  two  sig- 
natures differ  one  from  the  other." 

"I  cannot  do  so." 

"What?" 

Barstow  put  his  hand  behind  his  ear  as  though  he 
had  not  caught  the  answer. 

"I  cannot  do  so." 

The  reply  was  repeated  firmly,  in  a  low  tone,  but 
Barstow  was  not  satisfied. 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  us,"  he  demanded,  "that 
you  do  not  know  why  you  think  one  genuine  and  the 
other  a  forgery  ?" 

"I  cannot  point  out  any  particular  difference  in 
the  signatures,  if  that  is  what  you  want." 

"You  mean  you  have  some  reasons  not  supplied 
by  the  signatures  themselves  for  believing  one  forged 
and  the  other  genuine?" 

192 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Precisely." 

Barstow  stepped  back  from  the  railing  ana  studied 
the  jury  as  he  put  the  next  question. 

"Let  us  see  if  we  cannot  unearth  some  of  those 
reasons,  doctor.  You  receive  a  legacy  of  ten  thou- 
sand dollars  under  the  will  you  think  genuine,  do 
you  not?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"That  is  all,  doctor,  I  won't  trouble  you  further. 
Good-day." 

The  court-room  was  in  a  titter  as  Barstow  re- 
sumed his  seat,  but  it  instantly  hushed  as  the  wit- 
ness leaped  from  his  chair  and  pointed  a  shaking 
finger  at  the  lawyer's  face. 

"You  are  a  liar  and  a  coward,  sir!"  he  began,  but 
before  he  could  continue  the  Judge's  gavel  crashed 
upon  the  desk. 

"Take  your  seat,  Dr.  MacLean!"  he  thundered. 
"How  dare  you  use  such  language  in  my  court,  sir!" 

The  witness  glanced  at  the  angry  magistrate  and 
slowly  retreated  to  his  chair,  his  face  fairly  distorted 
with  rage. 

"Apologize!"  whispered  Gilbert,  quickly.  "I'll 
take  care  of  Barstow." 

The  witness  reluctantly  turned  to  the  Bench. 

"I  beg  the  Court's  pardon,"  he  muttered,  his  voice 
still  shaking  with  fury. 

The  Judge  glanced  sternly  at  the  speaker,  started 
to  reply,  but  paused  and  turned  to  the  prosecutor. 

"Continue  your  examination,  Mr.  Gilbert,"  he 
193 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

commanded.     "I  will  consider  your  case  later,  sir," 
he  added,  addressing  the  physician. 

Gilbert  allowed  the  witness  a  moment  to  recover 
his  self-possession,  but  MacLean's  eyes  remained 
loweringly  on  Barstow's  face. 

"Dr.  MacLean,"  began  the  prosecutor  at  last,  "is 
the  estate  of  Gregory  Shaw  solvent?" 

"It  is  not,  sir.  The  claims  against  it  are  double 
the  assets." 

"So  that  the  creditors  will  get  the  entire  estate?" 

"Yes." 

"And  the  legatees  nothing?" 

"Not  a  penny." 

"Then,  doctor,  you  are  not  personally  interested  in 
declaring  the  so-called  'wife'  will  a  forgery?" 

"I  am  not,  and  that  man  knows  it." 

The  speaker  pointed  his  finger  menacingly  at 
Barstow. 

"That  will  do,  doctor." 

Gilbert  sat  down,  but  the  physician  did  not  move 
from  his  seat. 

"Any  further  questions,  Mr.  Barstow?" 

The  lawyer  glanced  up  at  the  Judge's  question, 
and  regarded  the  witness  with  an  expression  of  con- 
tempt. 

"  So  you  have  realized  on  all  the  assets  of  the  Shaw 
estate,  have  you?"  he  inquired,  menacingly. 

"No,  sir,  I  have  not." 

"And  yet  you  say  they  will  not  equal  the  lia- 
bilities ?" 

194 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"They  will  not." 

"How  do  you  know,  if  you  haven't  sold  them?" 

"I  know  about  what  they  will  bring." 

"You  are  a  prophet,  eh?  And  the  liabilities? 
You  have  passed  all  those  and  know  them  to  be 
genuine  and  proper  claims  against  the  estate?" 

"Almost  all  of  them." 

"But  not  all?" 

"No." 

"Then  with  assets  unsold  and  debts  undetermined, 
aren't  you  despairing  of  your  legacy  too  soon,  doctor? 
Isn't  there  a  ray  of  hope  left  for  you  yet?" 

The  witness  made  no  reply,  and  the  counsel  re- 
sumed his  seat,  his  eyes  on  the  jurors'  faces. 

"Anything  further,  gentlemen?  No?  Then  you 
may  retire,  doctor." 

The  physician  lifted  his  eyes  from  Barstow's  face  as 
he  heard  the  Judge's  words,  and  slowly  turned  to  the 
Bench. 

"May  I  make  a  statement?"  he  requested. 

"If  it  touches  the  case." 

"It  touches  the  case  at  its  core" 

Gilbert  dropped  the  papers  he  was  examining  and 
stared  at  the  witness,  and  every  one  else  in  the  room 
sat  as  though  turned  to  stone. 

"Proceed,  sir,  we  are  waiting." 

I  could  hear  my  heart  throbbing  with  excitement 
as  his  Honor  spoke. 

"I  was  asked,"  began  the  witness,  his  voice  shak- 
ing with  anger — "asked  by  this — person" — his  eyes 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

sought  Barstow's  as  he  indicated  him  with  a  trem- 
bling finger — "if  I  had  some  reason  for  thinking  one 
of  the  wills  in  this  case  a  forgery.  I  have  not  yet 
given  that  reason.  I  was  willing  not  to  give  it,  but 
my  integrity  having  been  questioned,  I  will  withhold 
nothing.  This  defendant  was  in  the  habit  of  sign- 
ing Gregory  Shaw's  letters,  and  I  could  not  tell  his 
own  signature  from  hers,  she  imitated  it  so  per- 
fectly. Mr.  Shaw  knew  she  could  do  this,  and  en- 
couraged her  to  do  it,  and  I  have  talked  with  him 
about  it." 

The  witness  paused,  but  no  one  moved  or  spoke, 
and  all  eyes  sought  the  defendant,  who  was  gazing 
earnestly  at  Barstow.  The  situation  was  critical, 
and  I  felt  that  nothing  could  save  it  if  Barstow  did  not 
immediately  take  action,  and  when  at  last  he  leaned 
forward  and  whispered  in  his  client's  ear,  I  could 
stand  the  suspense  no  longer,  and  rising  from  my 
chair  I  faced  the  Bench. 

"May  I  ask  a  question?"  I  inquired. 

The  Judge  frowned  and  hesitated  a  moment. 

"I  think  you  had  better  allow  counsel  to  cross- 
examine,  sir,"  he  responded,  coldly. 

"I  will  yield  to  the  gentleman."  Barstow  glanced 
over  his  shoulder  and  waved  his  hand  towards  me 
as  he  spoke. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  snapped  the  Judge.     "Proceed." 

"I  want  to  ask  the  witness,"  I  began,  "why  he 
thinks  one  will  genuine  and  the  other  a  forgery,  if 
the  two  signatures  are  identical?" 

196 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"That  question  has  already  been  asked  and  an- 
swered," Judge  Dudley  interrupted. 

"I  think  not,  your  Honor,"  I  persisted.  "The 
witness  said  he  could  not  distinguish  one  signature 
from  the  other,  and  he  now  says  Miss  Emory  could 
imitate  her  employer's  signature  to  perfection,  but 
he  has  not  told  us  why  he  selects  one  in  preference  to 
the  other." 

"I  submit  that  this  is  argument,"  interposed  Gil- 
bert, rising  as  he  spoke,  "and  I  object  to  it." 

"Objection  sustained.     Now,  Mr.  Barstow — 

The  Judge  turned  to  the  counsel,  but  I  refused  to 
be  snubbed  or  side-tracked  and  remained  standing. 

"I  have  another  question,  if  the  Court  will  not  al- 
low that  one,"  I  persisted. 

"Good  for  you,  Foreman!     Stick  it  out!" 

I  half  turned  as  I  heard  Bayne's  encouraging  whis- 
per, but  the  Judge's  disapproving  glance  arrested  my 
further  movement. 

"I  cannot  have  the  orderly  conduct  of  the  case 
interrupted,  sir,"  he  decided.  "Please  take  your 
seat." 

"May  I  not  ask  one  more  question,  your  Honor?" 
I  pleaded.  "This  is  an  important  point,  and — 

"That  is  an  improper  statement  for  you  to  make, 
sir—" 

"  I  beg  your  Honor  will  allow  the  juror  to  proceed," 
interrupted  Barstow. 

The  Judge  impatiently  shoved  aside  the  papers  on 
his  desk,  glancing  angrily  at  the  jury-box. 

197 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  to  know?"  he  demanded, 
in  a  tone  of  annoyance. 

"  I  want  to  know  why  the  witness  has  concealed 
the  facts  he  has  just  related  until  the  present  mo- 
ment," I  responded. 

"I  object  to  the  word  'concealed,'"  interposed 
Gilbert.  "The  witness  was  not  questioned  concern- 
ing the  matter,  and  that  is  all  there  is  to  it." 

"I  should  like  the  witness's  own  answer,"  I  re- 
torted. 

"Sic  'em  !  Sic  'em !"  whispered  an  approving  voice 
behind  me. 

"I  did  not  think  it  my  duty  to  volunteer  testi- 
mony," responded  the  witness,  lamely. 

"And  yet  you  knew  it  went  to  the  core  of  the  case," 
I  persisted. 

"Now,  that  will  do,"  interposed  his  Honor.  "Do 
you  wish  to  cross-examine,  Mr.  Barstow?" 

"  Did  you  ever — "  I  began. 

"That  will  do,  sir!"  thundered  Judge  Dudley. 
"Didn't  you  hear  me,  sir?  That  will  do!" 

"Did  you  ever  see  Miss  Emory  actually  sign — 

"Mr.  Lambert,  if  you  speak  another  word  I'll 
hold  you  in  contempt  of  Court!" 

The  Judge  leaned  threateningly  over  his  desk,  and 
menaced  me  with  his  finger  as  he  spoke,  and  at  the 
same  moment  some  one  gently  patted  me  on  the  back. 

"Did  you  ever  see  Miss  Emory  actually  sign  Mr. 
Shaw's  name?"  demanded  Barstow,  taking  up  my 
question. 

198 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"No,  sir." 

"Then  all  this  you  have  told  us  is  mere  hearsay,  is 
it?" 

"I  heard  it  from  Mr.  Shaw." 

"Who  is  dead  and  can't  be  cross-examined!  Your 
Honor,  I  move  to  strike  every  word  of  this  testi- 
mony from  the  record." 

Barstow  pointed  to  the  stenographer's  open  note- 
book as  he  spoke. 

"Motion  granted.     Strike  it  out." 

Bayne  patted  my  knee  as  Judge  Dudley  gave  the 
order,  and,  glancing  covertly  at  the  faces  of  my  other 
associates,  it  dawned  upon  me  that  I  might  yet  be- 
come the  leader  of  these  men — the  real  Foreman  of 
the  Chain  -  Gang  —  and  at  the  luncheon  hour  I  re- 
ceived a  small  ovation. 


XXII 

ILBERT  evidently  recognized  that  striking  tes- 
timony  from  the  record  does  not  wipe  it  from  the 
memory,  for  when  the  court  reconvened,  he  allowed  the 
question  of  forgery  to  remain  where  Dr.  MacLean  had 
left  it,  and  made  no  immediate  effort  to  re-enforce  his 
case  against  the  defendant  on  that  point.  But  if  he 
believed  the  testimony  had  made  any  very  strong  im- 
pression upon  the  audience  I  had  reason  to  think  he 
was  mistaken  as  far  as  the  jurors  were  concerned. 
The  fact  of  murder  had  been  established,  and  the 
defendant's  opportunity  to  commit  it  stood  demon- 
strated beyond  all  reasonable  doubt.  But  the  proof 
of  her  motive  scarcely  justified  more  than  a  strong 
suspicion,  and  I  did  not  believe  there  was  a  man  on 
the  jury  who  would  have  decided  against  her  as  mat- 
ters then  stood.  Indeed,  I  was  convinced  that  Bar- 
stow  could  not  only  acquit  the  defendant,  but  ex- 
pose the  guilty  party  if  he  grasped  his  opportunities, 
and  I  resolved  that  the  case  should  not  remain  a 
mystery  if  I  could  help  it. 

The  prosecutor  began  the  afternoon's  proceedings 
by  producing  an  affidavit  made  by  Mr.  Shaw  in  a 
real-estate  transaction  a  few  weeks  prior  to  his  death, 

200 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

in  which  he  swore  that  he  was  an  unmarried  man,  and 
I  immediately  saw  we  were  entering  upon  a  new 
phase  of  the  case. 

Barstow  made  no  objection  to  the  proof  proposed. 
On  the  contrary,  he  offered  to  admit  that  Shaw  was 
unmarried  at  the  time  of  his  death,  if  the  prosecutor 
thought  the  fact  essential,  and  when  Gilbert  declined 
to  take  advantage  of  the  admission  he  protested 
against  his  opponent's  waste  of  time.  Indeed,  from 
that  moment  Barstow  began  to  hurry  his  adversary, 
and  continued  to  press  him  at  every  possible  oppor- 
tunity. Gilbert  no  sooner  placed  a  witness  on  the 
stand  than  Barstow  was  at  his  heels  wanting  to  know 
what  he  expected  to  prove  by  the  testimony,  and 
offering  to  concede  all  an  examination  could  possibly 
disclose.  But  though  the  prosecutor  never  availed 
himself  of  these  repeated  propositions  to  shorten  the 
trial,  Barstow  invariably  managed  to  anticipate  the 
testimony  in  his  arguments,  and  when  the  jury  finally 
heard  it  from  the  witnesses  it  seemed  stale  and  unim- 
portant. 

Did  Gilbert  desire  to  show  how  Mr.  Shaw  had  dis- 
posed of  all  his  property  and  turned  it  into  cash,  or 
its  equivalent,  and  deposited  it  in  a  Venezuelan  bank 
in  Alice  Emory's  name?  .  .  .  The  testimony  would 
reveal  what  he  wanted  to  prove?  ...  Of  course  it 
would!  But  why  waste  time  taking  testimony  to 
prove  what  was  indisputably  true?  Hadn't  he 
fairly  stated  all  Gilbert  could  extract  from  any  wit- 
ness as  to  the  deposit  in  the  Venezuelan  bank? 

201 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

Was  there  anything  more  to  it  than  the  prosecutor 
had  outlined  in  his  opening  speech?  .  .  .  No?  Very 
well,  then!  There  was  no  use  piling  up  proof  to  es- 
tablish what  the  defence  was  willing  to  concede,  and 
it  would  concede  the  foreign  bank-deposit  in  Miss 
Emory's  name,  and  any  other  little  details  which  the 
prosecutor  deemed  essential.  .  .  . 

At  last  Gilbert  turned  upon  his  tormentor. 

"If  my  learned  opponent  is  so  anxious  to  expedite 
this  trial,"  he  exclaimed,  "let  him  admit  that  the  de- 
fendant knew  of  the  securities  deposited  in  Venezuela 
in  her  name,  and  I  will  accommodate  him." 

Barstow  regarded  his  adversary  with  an  expression 
of  scornful  contempt. 

"  I  offer  to  concede  facts — not  fancies,"  he  retorted. 

"My  proposition  has  reference  to  a  fact." 

"It  has  reference  to  a  breezy  fancy  born  in  the 
wind-swept  cavern  of  your  mind,  sir!" 

"The  breeze  is  a  cyclone  which  will  blow  you  away, 
Barstow!" 

"Now,  gentlemen!" 

The  audience  was  rustling  with  excitement  as  the 
Judge's  admonition  parted  the  combatants,  and  it 
was  some  moments  before  quiet  was  restored. 

Then  Gilbert  took  up  his  interrupted  examination 
and  speedily  succeeded  in  establishing  the  identity 
of  the  securities  deposited  in  the  Venezuelan  bank 
in  Miss  Emory's  name,  but  all  his  efforts  to  follow  up 
this  proof  were  frustrated.  Again  and  again  he  re- 
turned to  the  attack,  and  I  could  appreciate  the  vital 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

importance  of  the  position  he  was  attempting  to 
carry.  If  he  could  prove  the  defendant  knew  of 
valuable  property  which  had  been  intrusted  to  her 
keeping,  the  motive  for  the  murder  would  be  only  too 
apparent.  Barstow,  however,  was  keenly  alive  to 
the  peril  of  the  situation,  and  met  every  onslaught 
with  vigorous  objections  which  hurled  his  adversary 
back  to  the  conceded  lines. 

At  last  the  prosecutor  abandoned  the  task  and 
began  a  new  assault.  In  quick  succession  he  offered 
a  number  of  letters  in  evidence,  but  again  Barstow 
opposed  him  tooth  and  nail,  and  one  after  another 
the  proposed  exhibits  were  ruled  out  by  the  Judge, 
and  not  one  of  them  came  under  the  observation  of 
the  jury.  Indeed,  so  closely  did  Barstow  mask  the 
identity  of  this  correspondence,  that  Gilbert  was  not 
even  permitted  to  tell  who  wrote  the  letters  or  who 
received  them,  and  for  some  time  I  had  no  idea  of 
what  he  was  attempting  to  prove.  Finally,  however, 
I  remembered  his  claim  that  Miss  Emory  had  desired 
to  become  Shaw's  wife,  and  had  threatened  him  with 
exposure  when  he  had  refused  to  comply  with  her 
wish,  and  I  concluded  that  the  prosecutor  was  un- 
successfully attempting  to  substantiate  this  part  of 
his  opening  speech. 

Although  his  moves  were  repeatedly  checked  and 
turned,  Gilbert  stuck  doggedly  to  his  task,  displaying 
wonderful  resourcefulness  and  ingenuity.  Once  or 
twice  he  seemed  on  the  verge  of  success,  but  Bar- 
stow's  stubborn  resistance  always  prevailed  in  the 
14  203 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

end,  and  left  him  master  of  the  situation.  Indeed, 
the  fight  continued  so  long  without  advantage  to  the 
prosecutor  that  it  grew  monotonous,  and  at  last 
some  one  in  the  audience  laughed.  Instantly  the 
lawyer's  face  darkened  with  anger,  and  as  he  turned 
to  the  sound  I  saw  his  eyes  rest  for  a  moment  on 
Barbara  Frayne.  Her  expression  was  perfectly 
grave,  but  I  could  see  the  color  mounting  to  her 
cheeks  as  Gilbert's  glance  passed  her  and  swept  along 
row  after  row  of  faces  until  he  had  inspected  every 
person  in  the  room.  When  he  turned  to  the  Bench 
again  he  appeared  more  severe  and  determined  than 
I  had  imagined  he  could  be. 

"Your  Honor,"  he  began,  "I  have  endeavored  to 
conduct  this  trial  up  to  the  present  time  without 
formality,  but  at  this  point  I  must  request  the  Court 
to  exclude  all  witnesses  from  the  room." 

Barstow  rose  and  stared  at  the  speaker  with  as- 
tonishment. 

"Isn't  it  rather  late  in  the  day  for  my  friend  to 
make  this  request?"  he  inquired  of  the  Court.  "Is 
he  going  to  call  any  more  witnesses  ?  If  not,  I  pro- 
test it  is  not  courteous  to  exclude  my  witnesses  when 
I  did  not  exclude  his." 

"There  is  no  use  protesting,  counsellor.  The 
request  is  entirely  proper,  and  I  shall  grant  it.  All 
persons  under  subpoena  in  the  case  of  the  People 
against  Alice  Emory  will  retire  to  my  private  room, 
and  wait  there  in  charge  of  an  officer  until  they  are 
called  upon  to  testify." 

204 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

A  general  movement  began  from  all  parts  of  the 
room  as  the  Judge  ceased  speaking,  and  then  for  the 
first  time  I  noticed  that  Miss  Mapes  and  Betty  Field 
had  been  seated  near  Colonel  Frayne  and  his  daughter, 
and  the  three  women  exchanged  a  few  whispered 
words  before  the  housekeeper  and  her  companion 
rose  and  walked  towards  the  door  through  which 
twenty  or  more  persons  were  being  herded  by  the 
court-attendants. 

When  quiet  had  been  restored,  Gilbert  again  rose 
and  addressed  the  Court. 

"Your  Honor,  I  now  request  that  no  person  be 
allowed  to  enter  or  leave  the  court-room  during  the 
examination  of  the  next  witness." 

Barstow  looked  up  at  his  opponent  with  an  angry 
sneer. 

"Please,  mister,  may  I  breathe  during  this  func- 
tion?" he  muttered. 

The  prosecutor  swung  on  his  heel,  and,  leaning 
forward,  looked  his  opponent  squarely  in  the  eyes. 

"I'll  make  you  hold  your  breath!"  he  retorted, 
sternly. 

Barstow  tipped  his  chair  back  with  an  uneasy 
laugh,  and  the  Judge  rapped  sharply  for  order. 

"Any  person  desiring  to  retire  from  the  court-room 
before  the  next  witness  leaves  the  stand  must  do  so 
now,"  he  directed. 

No  one  in  the  audience  stirred  at  the  announce- 
ment, and  an  expectant  hush  followed. 

"Officer,  lock  the  doors. — Now,  Mr.  Gilbert." 
205 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

His  Honor  turned  briskly  to  the  prosecutor,  who 
rose  and  glanced  at  the  attendant  standing  before 
the  door  of  the  Judge's  chamber. 

"Call  Madeleine  Mapes,"  he  commanded,  sharply. 


XXIII 

ALTHOUGH  I  had  seen  Mr.  Shaw's  housekeeper 
1~\  on  three  occasions  before  Gilbert  summoned 
her  to  testify,  I  had  never  had  a  fair  opportunity  to 
study  her  until  she  faced  me  on  the  witness-stand. 
The  woman's  Christian  name  exactly  described  her, 
but,  nevertheless,  she  impressed  me  as  one  of  those 
persons  for  whom  Christian  names  are  superfluous. 
Mapes  would  have  sufficed  her  for  all  the  ordinary 
purposes  of  life,  though  the  prefix  " Miss"  might  have 
been  conceded  her  for  formal  occasions.  One  could 
even  fancy  her  being  called  "dear  Miss  Mapes,"  at 
very  impulsive  moments,  but  I  could  not  imagine 
anybody  addressing  her  as  Madeleine  under  any  cir- 
cumstances whatever.  She  was  a  tall,  slim,  dignified 
person,  approaching  middle  age.  Her  thin  face,  with 
its  high  cheek-bones,  prominent  lower  jaw,  and  large, 
firm  mouth,  could  not  by  any  stretch  of  imagination 
have  been  called  handsome,  but  it  was  decidedly  in- 
teresting, and  although  it  expressed  determination, 
if  not  obstinacy,  in  almost  every  line,  it  was  neither 
hard  nor  disagreeable.  Indeed,  her  large  brown 
eyes  suggested  possibilities  of  deep  feeling,  and  her 
wavy  gray  hair,  parted  in  the  middle  and  looped  over 

207 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

her  temples,  gave  her  an  almost  kindly  expression. 
But  as  though  she  realized  this  softening  effect,  and 
despised  it  as  a  weakness,  Miss  Mapes  had  neutralized 
it  as  far  as  possible  by  a  hideous  black  bonnet  tied 
tightly  under  her  chin  with  long  black  ribbons. 
The  rest  of  her  attire  was  likewise  apparently  de- 
signed to  eliminate  every  vestige  of  personal  charm, 
and  so  lugubrious  was  it  that  the  long,  gun-metal 
watch-chain  suspended  from  her  neck  was  a  positive 
relief  to  the  eye  and  inspired  the  hope  that  her  black, 
lisle-thread  gloves  might  contain  something  as  cheer- 
ful as  a  mourning-ring.  .  In  fact,  it  seemed  as  though 
nature  had  intended  the  woman  to  be  sympathetic 
and  comely,  but  she  had  willed  otherwise,  and  on  the 
surface  she  was  as  callous  and  severe  as  manner  and 
clothes  could  make  her. 

Gilbert  studied  his  witness  for  some  moments  be- 
fore addressing  her,  and  I  could  hear  the  big  clock  be- 
hind the  Judge's  desk  ticking  the  seconds  away  as  the 
woman  met  his  silent  examination  with  a  steady  stare. 

"Miss  Mapes,  you  are  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
defendant's,  are  you  not?" 

The  housekeeper  eyed  her  questioner  suspiciously. 

"  Miss  Emory  and  I  are  friends,"  she  answered, 
cautiously. 

"And  you  believe  her  guiltless  of  the  charge  against 
her,  do  you  not?" 

"I  certainly  do." 

"Then  the  truth  cannot  injure  her  in  any  way, 
can  it?" 

208 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

Miss  Mapes  shrugged  her  shoulders  non-commit- 
tally. 

"It  depends  upon  who  is  speaking,"  she  snapped. 
"Some  tongues  are  naturally  formed  for  lying. 
They'd  twist  the  best  truth  in  the  telling." 

The  audience  chuckled  delightedly,  and  some  one 
started  applause,  which  was  instantly  silenced  by 
the  Judge's  gavel.  Gilbert  displayed  no  resentment 
at  the  witness's  retort,  but  returned  to  the  task  of 
conciliating  her  with  admirable  tact  and  good-nature. 
Miss  Mapes,  however,  was  in  no  mood  to  be  placated 
or  reassured.  She  was  disdainfully  suspicious  of  the 
prosecutor's  deference,  and  the  more  consideration 
he  displayed  the  less  he  received.  She  deliberated 
over  each  question  before  answering  it,  and  more 
than  once  I  thought  the  examiner's  endurance  was 
at  an  end.  His  patience,  however,  was  apparently 
inexhaustible,  and  the  most  aggravating  answers 
left  him  perfectly  unruffled.  It  was  not  until  he 
touched  upon  the  housekeeper's  disappearance  from 
Pollicet  that  his  manner  changed  and  his  questions 
became  more  insistent. 

The  witness  had  been  given  the  position  of  care- 
taker of  Mr.  Shaw's  Pollicet  farm  after  his  death,  had 
she  not?  .  .  .  Why  had  she  surrendered  her  duties  to 
another  person  and  departed  from  the  State  shortly 
after  the  inquest? — That  was  her  private  business? 
Why  did  she  take  the  ex-housemaid,  Betty  Field, 
with  her  on  that  private  business?  Because  she 
needed  companionship  ?  Then  why  .  .  . 

209 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

What  was  the  prosecutor  driving  at  ?  Did  he  mean 
to  imply  that  the  witness  was  trying  to  escape  from 
testifying?  Then  why  had  she  returned  in  time  for 
the  trial?  She'd  come  back  voluntarily,  hadn't 
she?  The  prosecutor  hadn't  brought  her  back, 
had  he?  No  one  could  have  brought  her  back. 
Wasn't  that  so  ?  Then  what  did  he  mean  by  his  in- 
sinuations and  insults  and  twistings  and  turnings 
and  pretence  of  fair  play? 

Although  I  knew  the  woman  was  dodging,  I  could 
not  but  admire  the  courage  with  which  she  turned 
upon  the  prosecutor  with  her  breathless  burst  of  ques- 
tions, but  my  admiration  was  tempered  by  the  sus- 
picion that  she  was  fighting,  not  to  help  her  friend, 
but  to  save  herself. 

Gilbert  made  no  further  attempt  to  soothe  the 
witness  after  her  hostile  outburst,  but,  accepting  the 
gage  of  battle,  settled  down  to  fight  it  out. 

"Miss  Mapes,  did  you  ever  see  the  defendant  wear- 
ing a  blue  skirt  of  this  shade  and  texture?" 

I  started  at  the  question,  and  instantly  Gilbert's 
opening  words  recurred  to  my  mind.  When  we 
found  the  wearer  of  the  skirt  from  which  the  tell- 
tale threads  were  torn,  he  had  told  us,  we  would 
know  the  murderer  of  Mr.  Gregory  Shaw.  This, 
then,  was  the  crucial  moment  of  the  trial. 

Miss  Mapes  carefully  examined  the  exhibit  which 
had  been  handed  her,  and  to  my  intense  surprise 
nodded  as  she  returned  it. 

"I  have  seen  Miss  Emory  wear  a  dark-blue  skirt," 
210 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

she  responded,  calmly,  "but  I  couldn't  say  it  was 
exactly  like  this  sample." 

"But  substantially  the  same?" 

"I  could  not  say." 

The  examiner  paused,  and,  unable  to  bear  the 
nervous  strain  of  the  suspense,  I  glanced  from  the 
witness  to  the  excited  faces  in  the  audience.  Bar- 
bara Frayne  was  leaning  forward,  her  hands  resting 
on  the  bench  in  front  of  her,  her  gaze  fixed  on  the 
housekeeper's  face,  and,  noting  her  anxious  expres- 
sion, I  turned  away,  fearing  to  meet  her  eyes. 

"When  did  you  last  see  the  defendant  wearing 
such  a  skirt?" 

Miss  Mapes  carefully  considered  the  question,  but 
her  eyes  never  left  the  prosecutor,  and  as  she  weighed 
the  answer  she  appeared  the  calmest  person  in  the 
room. 

"More  than  two  years  ago." 

"You  saw  it  after  she  ceased  to  wear  it?" 

"Yes." 

"When  did  you  last  see  it?" 

"I  don't  remember." 

"Where  did  you  last  see  it?" 

"In  the  closet  of  my  room." 

"Of  your  room?  How  did  it  happen  to  be 
there?" 

"Miss  Emory  gave  it  to  me." 

"When  did  she  give  it  to  you?" 

"Nearly  two  years  ago." 

"What  did  you  do  with  it?" 

211 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"I  ripped  the  silk  lining  out  of  it  and  threw  the 
rest  away." 

"Where  did  you  throw  it?" 

"I  don't  remember." 

"Why  don't  you  remember?" 

"Because  I  haven't  charged  my  mind  with  the 
whereabouts  of  every  bit  of  rubbish  I've  thrown 
away  in  the  last  two  years." 

"  How  long  ago  did  you  throw  away  this  particular 
bit  of  rubbish?" 

"I  don't  remember." 

"Was  it  since  Mr.  Shaw's  death?" 

The  witness  hesitated  a  moment,  and,  though  her 
glance  never  wavered,  I  felt  my  hand  trembling  on 
the  arm  of  my  chair  as  the  prosecutor  again  put  his 
ominous  question. 

"Was  it  since  Mr.  Shaw's  death,  Miss  Mapes?" 

"You  know  it  wasn't!"  she  burst  out,  snappishly. 
"  It  was  almost,  if  not  quite,  two  years  ago.  I  don't 
remember  which." 

I  could  hear  the  audience  giving  vent  to  its  relief, 
but  I  took  no  satisfaction  in  the  sounds.  In  my 
opinion  the  testimony  entitled  the  defendant  to  some- 
thing more  than  sympathy.  It  demanded  her  com- 
plete vindication,  and  for  this  the  detection  of  the 
guilty  party  was  essential.  Unless  the  real  criminal 
were  exposed,  her  acquittal  would  be  at  best  but 
negative  justice,  and  my  mind  was  already  intent 
upon  the  track  of  the  witness. 

I  knew  that  the  housekeeper  had  been  detected  in 
212 


the  act  of  destroying  something  in  the  furnace  after 
the  discovery  of  the  crime;  she  had  occupied  Miss 
Emory's  room  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  and  now 
it  appeared  that  she  was  the  last  owner  of  the  blue 
skirt. 

This  last  fact  intensified  my  early  suspicions 
against  the  woman,  and  I  thrilled  with  excitement 
as  the  prosecutor  paused  and  whispered  to  one  of 
his  assistants.  Surely  he  would  now  bring  out  the 
rest  of  the  story  as  I  knew  it,  and  see  where  the 
proofs  were  pointing.  He  had  the  necessary  clew  in 
his  possession.  Would  he  have  the  moral  courage 
to  abandon  his  pursuit  of  the  defendant  and  camp 
on  the  housekeeper's  trail? 

"What  was  the  condition  of  the  skirt  when  you 
threw  it  away,  Miss  Mapes?  Could  it  have  been 
worn?" 

I  recognized  the  vital  significance  of  the  prose- 
cutor's question,  and  listened  eagerly  for  the  answer. 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"Why  don't  you  think  so?" 

I  almost  smiled  as  I  heard  the  question.  Gilbert 
was  clearly  on  the  trail  now,  and  I  hung  breathlessly 
on  his  every  word.  1 

"Because  I  remember  ripping  the  lining  out,  and 
if  the  rest  had  been  wearable  I'd  have  given  it  to 
some  poor  person.  I  don't  believe  in  waste." 

"Did  you  recall  any  person  other  than  Miss  Emory 
wearing  a  blue  skirt  in  your  household?" 

"No;  but  there  might  have  been  others.  The 
213 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

material  is  in  common  use  for  men's  clothes  as  well 
as  women's." 

"Miss  Mapes,  when  did  you  first  hear  of  Mr.  Shaw's 
death?" 

The  housekeeper  answered  this  question,  and  then 
to  my  intense  chagrin  the  prosecutor  started  upon  a 
line  of  inquiry  which  speedily  carried  him  far  afield, 
and  left  me  to  follow  him  as  best  I  could  in  my  amaze- 
ment and  dismay.  Again  and  again  he  struck  the 
housekeeper's  track,  but  no  sooner  was  he  headed  in 
her  direction  than  some  chance  word  would  divert 
him,  and  he  would  swerve  from  the  path  and  plunge 
in  a  blind  thicket  of  details.  At  times  it  seemed  as 
though  he  were  intentionally  avoiding  the  subject  of 
Miss  Mapes's  whereabouts  on  the  night  of  November 
2d,  so  perilously  close  did  he  come  to  the  question 
which  would  have  focussed  attention  upon  her  and 
changed  the  whdle  course  of  the  trial.  But  as  the 
examination  continued  I  realized  that  accident  and 
not  design  was  responsible  for  the  omission,  and  the 
minuteness  of  his  inquiries  encouraged  me  to  believe 
that  sooner  or  later  he  must  light  upon  the  neces- 
sary query.  t 

The  witness's  tactics,  however,  were  even  more  diffi- 
cult to  understand  than  Gilbert's.  She  had  gone  out 
of  the  way  to  advise  me  of  her  occupancy  of  Miss 
Emory's  room,  but  she  took  no  pains  to  supply  the 
prosecutor  with  this  information.  She  did  not  actu- 
ally mislead  him,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  but  she  gave 
him  no  assistance.  Her  answers  were  grudgingly 

214 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

short  and  unsuggestive,  but  they  indicated  no  active 
opposition  to  the  examiner.  If  he  bent  all  his  energy 
upon  some  unimportant  subject  which  might  have 
been  disposed  of  with  a  word,  she  allowed  him  to  un- 
cover it  detail  by  detail,  until  the  futility  of  further 
search  was  demonstrated  to  every  eye.  When  he 
stood  on  the  verge  of  a  discovery,  she  gave  him  no 
sign  of  encouragement  or  warning,  merely  drifting 
on  before  him  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  elusive,  intangi- 
ble, mocking  pursuit. 

Thus  the  exhaustive  and  exhausting  inquisition 
continued  like  the  game  of  "Twenty  Questions," 
amplified  and  extended  almost  beyond  the  limits  of 
endurance.  More  than  once  I  was  upon  the  point  of 
interrupting,  but  restrained  myself,  fearing  to  spoil 
some  plan  I  did  not  understand  and  defeat  the  end 
in  view.  I  had  a  hard  struggle,  however,  to  control 
myself  at  crucial  moments  when  a  single  word  or 
even  a  look  might  have  given  the  necessary  cue. 
"Now  it  is  coming!"  I  whispered  to  myself  over  and 
over  again;  but  as  one  opportunity  after  another 
slipped  by,  I  lost  hope,  and  grew  more  restless, 
irritated,  and  nervous  with  each  succeeding  ques- 
tion. 

"Miss  Mapes,  how  far  was  your  room  from  Mr. 
Shaw's  study?" 

I  leaned  forward  eagerly  as  the  prosecutor  put  the 
question,  every  nerve  in  my  body  tingling  with  ex- 
citement. Gilbert  was  squarely  on  the  trail  again! 
Would  he  keep  it?  In  the  intensity  of  the  moment 

215 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

I  lost  all  sense  of  my  surroundings,  and  crouched  in 
my  seat  like  a  hunter  stalking  long-sought  game. 

"My  room  was  in  what  was  called  the  west  ex- 
tension." 

"And  that  is  quite  a  long  distance  from  Mr.  Shaw's 
rooms?" 

"Yes." 

"Too  far  for  you  to  have  heard  the  noise  of  a  strug- 
gle, if  there  was  a  struggle  in  his  rooms?" 

"Much  too  far." 

"And  the  servants?  Could  they  have  heard  any 
such  noise  from  their  sleeping-rooms?" 

"I  do  not  think  they  could." 

"So  Miss  Emory  was  the  only  person  whose  room 
was  so  situated  that  she  could  easily  hear  any  un- 
usual noise  in  Mr.  Shaw's  study?" 

"Yes." 

"That  is  all.     Your  witness,  Mr.  Barstow!" 

I  fairly  gasped  as  Gilbert  turned  to  his  opponent. 
Was  it  possible  that  he  was  abandoning  the  pursuit 
at  the  very  moment  of  success?  Did  he  suspect 
nothing  ?  Was  he  blind  ? 

"No  questions." 

I  heard  Barstow's  words,  but  I  could  not  credit  my 
ears.  He  could  not  be  allowing  the  witness  to  escape 
in  this  fashion!  It  was  too  preposterous  for  belief. 

"You  are  excused,  madam,,  but  do  not  leave  the 
building  without  the  direction  of  the  Court."  . 

Miss  Mapes  had  risen  and  was  actually  moving 
towards  the  Judge's  chambers  before  I  awoke  to  the 

216 


THE  ACCOMPLICE 

reality  of  what  was  happening,  and  in  the  excite- 
ment of  the  moment  I  forgot  the  deference  due  the 
Court. 

"Wait!"  I  almost  shouted. 

The  woman  visibly  started  as  I  spoke,  but  turned 
to  me  with  a  not  unfriendly  nod. 

"Did  you  occupy  your  own  room  on  the  night  of 
the  murder?"  I  demanded,  breathlessly. 

"I  did  not.     I  occupied  Miss  Emory's." 

I  saw  Judge  Dudley's  finger  menacing  me  as  I 
put  the  question,  and  at  the  same  moment  Barstow 
and  Gilbert  sprang  to  their  feet,  but  the  housekeeper 
answered  before  any  one  could  interfere,  and  a  deep 
hush  followed.  Then  his  Honor  broke  the  silence. 

"Return  to  the  witness-chair,  if  you  please,  mad- 
am," he  requested,  sternly.  "Take  your  seats,  gen- 
tlemen! Everybody  in  the  room  sit  down!"  he 
added,  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

The  crash  of  his  heavy  gavel  startled  me,  and  glanc- 
ing over  the  room  I  saw  that  more  than  half  the 
spectators  had  risen  to  their  feet. 


XXIV 

THE  moment  the  room  settled  down  again  both 
Gilbert  and  Barstow  claimed  the  right  to  ex- 
amine, and  a  hot  skirmish  followed,  the  combatants 
fighting  at  close  range  with  words  which  had  all  the 
force  and  sting  of  blows.  Finally  the  Judge  inter- 
fered with  a  decision  in  Gilbert's  favor,  and  the  de- 
fendant's counsel  sullenly  yielded,  but  without  re- 
treating from  the  rail  against  which  he  stood  glaring 
at  the  witness  as  she  faced  her  inquisitor. 

"You  say  you  occupied  Miss  Emory's  room  on  the 
night  of  November  2d?"  began  the  prosecutor, 
sharply. 

"That  is  what  I  said." 

Every  syllable  of  the  answer  was  defiant,  challeng- 
ing. 

"Why  didn't  you  say  it  sooner?" 

"Because  I  wasn't  asked." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  volunteer  the  informa- 
tion ?" 

"Because  I  was  advised  that  lawyers  were  smart 
enough  to  learn  what  they  wanted  without  any  help 
from  womenfolk." 

"Who  gave  you  such  advice?" 
218 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"Mr.  Barstow." 

"Mr.  Barstow?  Are  you  acting  under  his  ad- 
vice?" 

"For  want  of  better." 

"Let  me  supply  your  want  by  recommending  you 
to  disclose  at  once  any  other  facts  which  you  have 
concealed  up  to  date  touching  the  death  of  Mr. 
Gregory  Shaw." 

"I'm  not  concealing  anything." 

The  examiner  paused  and  the  witness's  eyes  rested 
for  a  moment  on  Barstow's  face,  but  she  answered 
its  threat  with  a  defiant  stare  and  turned  again  to 
Gilbert. 

"How  did  you  come  to  occupy  Miss  Emory's 
room,  as  you  have  stated?" 

"She  requested  me  to  do  so." 

"When?" 

"On  the  afternoon  of  November  2d." 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"She  came  to  my  room  and  told  me  that  Mr. 
Shaw  had  asked  her  to  become  his  wife,  and  that 
she  had  refused  him,  as  usual — 

"As  usual?     Was  it  such  a  common  occurrence?" 

"Common  enough.  He'd  proposed  to  her  about 
eight  times,  I  think." 

The  audience  tittered  in  a  nervous  manner,  and 
the  sound  grated  upon  me  and  roused  my  indigna- 
tion. Gilbert  seemed  equally  annoyed,  for  he  shot 
an  angry  glance  at  the  crowded  benches  before  he 
continued. 

15  219 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"Tell  us  what  else  Miss  Emory  said,"  he  directed, 
at  last. 

"  She  told  me  Mr.  Shaw  had  urged  his  suit  with 
greater  persistence  than  ever  before,  and  would  not 
take  no  for  an  answer,"  the  witness  responded,  "and 
when  she  would  not  listen  to  him  any  longer  he  had 
become  very  excited  and  threatened  to  shoot  him- 
self and  her."  • 

"What  did  she  reply  to  those  threats?" 

"She  resigned  her  position,  and  told  him  she  would 
leave  his  house  the  following  morning." 

"What  else  did  she  tell  you?" 

"She  said  he  grew  terribly  angry  when  she  an- 
nounced her  resignation,  and  became  so  abusive 
that  high  words  passed  between  them  before  she 
managed  to  escape  from  the  study,  and  she  was 
afraid  to  remain  alone  in  her  room.  That's  why  she 
came  to  me." 

"So  you  spent  the  night  with  her?" 

"  No.     She  stayed  in  my  room  and  I  occupied  hers." 

"I  see.     And  what  time  did  you  part?" 

"A  little  before  eight  o'clock." 

"And  when  did  you  see  her  again?" 

"About  seven  the  next  morning." 

"Then,  between  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  and 
seven  the  next  morning  you  don't  know  what  she  did, 
do  you?" 

"Of  course  not,  but — " 

"When  did  this  quarrel  between  Miss  Emory  and 
Shaw  take  place?" 

220 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

I  started  as  Gilbert  put  the  question.  He  had  not 
been  following  up  the  witness  in  the  way  I  had  ex- 
pected. His  questions  were  apparently  framed  not 
to  implicate  her,  but  to  strengthen  his  case  against 
the  defendant.  Was  he  seizing  upon  the  fact  of  a 
quarrel  between  Shaw  and  Miss  Emory  to  supply  a 
motive  for  the  murder  ?  My  heart  sank  at  the  ques- 
tion and  my  brain  began  to  whirl.  Had  Bar  stow 
feared  this?  Was  his  knowledge  of  this  quarrel 
the  secret  of  his  attempt  to  get  the  housekeeper  out 
of  the  way?  Was  my  interference  to  supply  the 
prosecutor  with  just  the  proof  he  needed  ?  I  could 
not,  would  not,  believe  it! 

"Didn't  you  hear  my  question,  Miss  Mapes? 
When  did  this  quarrel  between  Miss  Emory  and 
Shaw  take  place?" 

The  housekeeper  stared  at  the  examiner  with  an 
expression  of  dismay,  and  I  knew  that  she,  too,  had 
scented  the  danger  and  was  wildly  seeking  an  escape. 

"I  didn't  say  they  quarrelled,"  she  answered. 

"Quite  true — you  didn't.  You  said  high  words 
passed  between  them." 

"Yes,  but—" 

"Never  mind  the  'but.'  When  did  those  high 
words  pass?" 

"I — I  didn't  mean  high  words  exactly.  I  meant 
to  say — I  should  have  said- 
Miss  Mapes  glanced  helplessly  at  Barstow,  but 
meeting  his  stony  glare  turned  again  to  her  questioner 
with  the  look  of  a  hunted  animal  in  her  eyes. 

221 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"Well?" 

"I — I  don't  remember  exactly  what  she  said,"  she 
gasped. 

"But  you  received  the  impression  that  they  had 
not  parted  on  good  terms?" 

"Yes — no.     I — I  don't  know." 

"Did  she  express  any  resentment  at  Mr.  Shaw's 
conduct?" 

"Well,  he  had  insulted  her,  and —  No,  she 
didn't." 

"I  see.  He  had  insulted  her,  but  she  forgave 
him?" 

"No,  she  didn't.  She — he — I  don't  know  what 
she  said!" 

The  witness  was  visibly  weakening  under  the 
lawyer's  rapid  questioning,  and  she  sat  back  in  her 
chair  gazing  at  him  in  a  dazed  and  hopeless  fashion. 

Gilbert  gave  her  no  respite,  however,  but  rapidly 
shifted  his  attack. 

"Miss  Mapes,  did  you  lock  the  door  of  Miss  Em- 
ory's room  when  you  retired?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  the  window?" 

"Yes." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Sure." 

"When  you  woke  in  the  morning  did  you  detect 
any  odor  of  gas  in  your  room?" 

"No." 

"Not  at  all?" 

222 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"No." 

"But  in  the  hall  it  was  very  noticeable,  wasn't 
it?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  hear  any  noise  or  disturbance  during 
the  night?" 

"No." 

"You  slept  soundly?" 

"Yes,  until  about  five  o'clock." 

"What  woke  you  then?" 

"I — I  don't  know.     I  was  cold,  I  think." 

"  Why  didn't  you  get  up  and  close  the  window?" 

"I  did." 

The  lawyer  glanced  covertly  at  the  jury-box,  but 
the  witness  seemed  wholly  unconscious  of  her  terrible 
slip,  and  I  sat  aghast  at  the  result  of  my  meddling 
— my  face  flushing  and  paling  with  every  question. 
The  prosecutor  was  proving  his  case,  and  I  was  en- 
abling him  to  do  it!  I,  whom  Barbara  Frayne  had 
relied  upon — on  whose  intelligence  she  counted! 

"When  you  saw  Miss  Emory  in  your  room,  in  the 
morning,  was  she  dressed?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  know  of  Mr.  Shaw's  death  then?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  was  she  when  the  body  was  discovered?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Who  told  her  of  the  occurrence?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"When  did  you  first  talk  with  her  concerning  it?" 
223 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"I  don't  remember." 

The  housekeeper  glanced  despairingly  about  her, 
but  there  was  no  sympathy  in  the  hundreds  of  eyes 
which  met  her  appeal,  and  the  prosecutor  sternly  de- 
manded her  attention  with  a  pitiless  hail  of  questions. 

She  no  longer  deliberated  over  her  answers,  but 
stammered  out  breathless  evasions  and  denials,  re- 
gardless of  the  contradictions  they  involved.  A 
denial  was  no  sooner  uttered  than  it  required  an- 
other and  another  until  the  witness  fairly  staggered 
in  her  pitiable  flight.  Apparently  the  uppermost 
thought  in  her  mind  was  to  protect  the  defendant, 
and  her  reckless  efforts  to  accomplish  this  doubled 
the  mischief  already  done.  At  last  the  prosecutor 
gave  her  a  breathing  space  with  a  question  which 
roused  her  indignation. 

"You  suggested  sending  for  Mr.  Barstow — didn't 
you,  Miss  Mapes?"  he  inquired. 

"I  did  not." 

"Then  it  was  Miss  Emory  who  sent  for  him?" 

"She  did  not." 

"Then  who  did  send  for  him?" 

"Nobody." 

"Nobody?     He  just  happened  to  call?" 

"He  was  a  friend  of  Miss  Emory's,  and  he  heard  of 
Mr.  Shaw's  death,  and  came  to  tell  us  not  to  talk  to 
the  newspaper  people  or  the  officials  any  more  than 
was  necessary." 

"And  you  didn't  tell  these  things  because  of  his 
advice?" 

224 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"I  wasn't  asked  about  them." 

"I  see.  That  is  all,  madam.  No,  pardon  me. 
One  question  more.  Have  you  always  occupied  the 
same  room  in  Mr.  Shaw's  house?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  look  in  the  closet  of  your  room  after  Miss 
Emory  had  occupied  it  to  see  if  the  blue  skirt  was  still 
there?" 

The  question  fairly  overwhelmed  me,  and  I  experi- 
enced a  feeling  of  deep  pity  for  the  witness  as  I  heard 
it.  I  no  longer  harbored  the  slightest  suspicion  of  her 
guilt.  She  had  doubtless  thought  to  help  her  friend 
by  giving  me  the  information  which  had  been  so  dis- 
astrously turned  against  her,  and  had  honestly,  though 
obstinately  fought  to  have  it  brought  out  despite 
the  lawyer's  advice.  And  I,  who  had  thought  my- 
self cleverer  than  Gilbert,  Barstow,  and  the  house- 
keeper combined,  had  given  her  the  necessary  open- 
ing. What  would  Barbara  Frayne  think  of  me 
now? 

I  looked  across  the  court-room,  and,  as  my  eyes 
rested  on  her  flushed  and  anxious  face  she  suddenly 
turned  to  me  with  a  glance  of  unmistakable  confi- 
dence. Then,  and  not  until  then,  did  I  realize  the 
mental  struggle  which  lay  before  me.  Could  I  dis- 
regard the  testimony?  Dared  I  still  save  the  de- 
fendant by  my  vote? 

"Didn't  you  look  in  your  closet  the  morning  after 
Miss  Emory  had  occupied  your  room  to  see  if  the  blue 
skirt  was  still  there,  Miss  Mapes?" 

22$ 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

I  turned  as  the  prosecutor  rephrased  his  signifi- 
cant question. 

"No,  I  didn't,"  Miss  Mapes  retorted,  feebly.  "I 
told  you  I'd  thrown  it  away." 

"But  you  said  you'd  last  seen  it  in  the  closet  of 
your  room,  didn't  you?" 

"I  did  not.     I  said—" 

"Mr.  Stenographer,  read  the  witness's  answer  to 
my  question  on  that  point." 

The  stenographer  turned  back  the  leaves  of  his 
note-book,  and  the  room  was  hushed  in  deathlike 
silence  as  he  examined  them.  At  last  he  placed  his 
pen  on  one  of  the  pages,  and,  glancing  up,  nodded  at 
Gilbert. 

"Question  "  (he  read).  "  Where  did  you  last  see  it?" 
(the  blue  cloth  skirt).  "  Answer.  In  the  closet  of  my 
room." 

A  solemn  pause  followed,  and  the  prosecutor  eyed  the 
witness  narrowly  as  she  sat  trembling  in  the  chair. 

"Well?"  he  queried,  at  last. 

"I  didn't  mean  that!"  Miss  Mapes  burst  out,  ex- 
citedly. "  I  don't  know  where  I  last  saw  it.  I  threw 
it  away.  I  swear  to  God  I— 

The  woman  gasped  and  paused,  her  eyes  again 
seeking  Barstow's  with  an  imploring  expression,  but 
the  lawyer  responded  with  as  cruel  a  glance  as  I  ever 
saw  in  a  human  face,  and  the  housekeeper  cowered 
under  it  as  she  sank  back  in  her  chair.  Gilbert 
watched  her  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and  then 
quietly  resumed  his  seat. 

226 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"That  is  all,  Miss  Mapes,"  he  murmured. 

Barstow  had  uttered  no  word  of  objection  during 
his  adversary's  long  examination  of  the  witness  nor 
had  he  assisted  her  in  any  way,  and  I  thought  he 
might  not  attempt  a  cross-examination.  He  waited 
only  an  instant,  however,  before  he  sprang  at  her 
with  a  question,  his  voice  shaking  with  fury. 

"Have  you  now  told  everything  you  know  about 
this  case?"  he  demanded,  savagely. 

"I  have." 

The  housekeeper's  voice  trembled  as  she  answered, 
but  her  eyes  flashed  defiantly. 

"Don't  you  know  you  haven't?"  he  snarled. 

"No." 

"We'll  see  about  that.  Was  there  any  love  lost 
between  you  and  the  late  Mr.  Gregory  Shaw?" 

The  woman  visibly  flinched  at  the  question,  but 
recovered  herself  immediately. 

"There  was  no  question  of  love  between  us,"  she 
answered,  bravely. 

"Didn't  you  hate  each  other?" 

"I  don't  know  what  his  feelings  were." 

"  But  yours! — yours!  Tell  us  about  yours!  Didn't 
you  hate  him?" 

Barstow  leaned  towards  the  witness,  his  finger 
shaking  in  her  face. 

"I  didn't  like  him." 

"Like  him!     Didn't  you  dislike  him?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  hate  him?" 

227 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"Think  again,  then." 

"I  have  thought." 

"Didn't  you  loathe  him?" 

"No." 

"Didn't  you  fear  him?" 

"No!" 

"Didn't  you  despise  him?" 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  never  love  him  ?" 

"Yes,  I  did  once." 

"Oh!     A  woman  scorned — eh?" 

The  questions  had  been  pelting  her  with  stinging 
force  as  fast  as  the  words  could  fly,  and  the  witness 
was  visibly  weakening  under  them. 

"Didn't  you  advise  Miss  Emory — your  so-called 
friend — not  to  marry  him?"  continued  Barstow. 

"I  did." 

"Didn't  you  warn  her  that  he'd  once  made  love 
to  you?" 

"I  did." 

"Didn't  you  express  your  contempt  and  loathing 
for  him  in  as  strong  terms  as  your  vocabulary  would 
permit?" 

"I  expressed  my  contempt  for  him — yes." 

"  You  did  ?  He  made  love  to  you,  and  you  warned 
the  defendant  against  him  and  expressed  your  con- 
tempt of  him,  eh?  I  thought  you'd  told  us  every- 
thing you  knew  about  this  case?" 

"Those  matters  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  case." 
228 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Haven't  they?  Wait  and  see,  madam  —  wait 
and  see!  When  did  you  learn  that  Mr.  Shaw  was  to 
marry  Miss  Emory?" 

"Never." 

"Didn't  Miss  Emory  tell  you  so  the  very  night 
he  died?" 

"She  did  not.  She  told  me  she  had  refused  him. 
She  said — " 

Barstow's  arms  flew  out  at  the  witness  furiously. 

"We  heard  you  say  all  that!"  he  shouted.  "But 
I  want  the  facts  and  I'm  going  to  have  them!" 

Gilbert  leaped  to  his  feet,  his  hand  raised  in  pro- 
test. 

"Your  Honor,"  he  interposed,  "I  object  to  these 
brutal  and  uncalled-for  comments  which  are  not 
only  insulting  to  the  witness,  but  unseemly  in  a 
court." 

Barstow  turned  fiercely  upon  the  prosecutor,  his 
eyes  flashing  dangerously. 

"  When  murder  and  manners  are  more  closely 
allied,  I'll  take  lessons  of  you,  Gilbert,"  he  snapped. 
"Until  then,  sit  down!" 

The  prosecutor  flushed  angrily,  but,  ignoring  his 
opponent,  again  addressed  the  Court. 

"I  move  to  strike  the  comments  of  counsel  from 
the  record,"  he  demanded,  "and  I  object  to  their 
repetition." 

"Strike  them  out,  stenographer,"  Judge  Dudley 
ordered.  "Now,  Mr.  Barstow." 

The  defendant's  counsel  waited  scowlingly  until  the 
229 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

prosecutor  had  resumed  his  seat,  and  then  sprang  at 
the  witness  with  unabated  fury. 

"Is  there  a  living  being  anywhere  on  this  earth 
who  ever  heard  of  your  exchanging  rooms  with  this 
defendant  on  the  night  of  Shaw's  death?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Emory." 

"Oh,  Miss  Emory?  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
give  us  the  name  of  some  dead  person — like  Shaw, 
for  instance." 

Gilbert  again  sprang  to  his  feet  protesting. 

"Now,  your  Honor,  I  move  to  strike  that  out,"  he 
thundered. 

Barstow  swung  savagely  upon  his  adversary. 

"If  you  interrupt  me  again,  sir,"  he  shouted,  "I'll 
make  it  a  personal  matter." 

"Pray  don't  wait  for  that,  Mr.  Barstow!" 

"Gentlemen,  this  wrangling  must  cease,"  inter- 
posed the  Judge.  "Mr.  Barstow,  confine  yourself  to 
questions,  and  remember  this  is  cross-examination, 
Mr.  Gilbert." 

Again  Barstow  faced  the  witness  and  reopened  his 
furious  attack. 

"  So  you  and  Miss  Emory  were  the  only  living  per- 
sons who  knew  of  your  alleged  exchange  of  rooms?" 
he  inquired,  menacingly. 

"Yes." 

"Did  none  of  the  servants  in  the  house  discover 
it?" 

"No." 

"And  you  have  concealed  it  until  now?" 
230 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"You  knew  of  it." 

"/  knew  of  it!     You  mean  you  told  me?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  say  what  you  mean!  Now  tell  us  about 
Mr.  Shaw's  making  love  to  you — give  us  the  dates, 
the  words,  the  actions,  everything — a  regular  heart- 
to-heart  talk." 

Miss  Mapes  turned  scarlet,  stammered  out  a  few 
inarticulate  sentences,  and  paused.  Instantly  Bar- 
stow  was  at  her  with  a  furious  burst  of  questions, 
heartless,  cruel,  brutal  inquiries  which  tore  her  like 
murderous  fangs  and  drove  her  to  cover.  One  could 
almost  hear  the  howl  of  savage  satisfaction  in  the 
lawyer's  pursuing  questions  as  he  leaped  after  her 
and  drove  her  in  frantic  flight.  Again  and  again  she 
turned  and  met  his  onslaught  bravely,  only  to  be 
overpowered  and  hounded  once  more  with  relentless 
fury. 

Shaw  had  made  love  to  her,  and  she  had  at  one 
time  thought  him  honorable  and  sincere.  She  had 
not  hated  him  until  he  had  proved  himself  a  liar 
and  a  coward.  That  was  long  ago.  She  had  re- 
mained in  his  employ  because  he  had  begged  her  to 
do  so,  and  because  she  had  neither  money  nor  friends, 
and  hoped  to  get  another  position,  and  because — 

Once  more  Barstow  was  at  her  throat  tearing  an- 
swers from  her  with  hideous  ferocity. 

.  .  .  She  had  remained  his  housekeeper  because  she 
hoped  to  better  herself,  hadn't  she?  She  wanted  to 
housekeep  for  keeps,  didn't  she?  Wasn't  she  plot- 

231 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

ting  and  planning  to  become  Shaw's  wife  ?  No — no — 
and  no  again!  She  had  come  to  hate  him  less  of  late 
years  because  she  had  neither  forgotten  nor  forgiven. 
She  had  known  of  his  making  love  to  Miss  Emory  for 
more  than  a  year.  She  and  the  secretary  were  inti- 
mate friends. — Did  Shaw  know  she  was  warning  the 
girl  against  him?  No.  Had  she  ever  protested  to 
Shaw,  and  demanded  that  he  cease  his  attentions  to 
her  confidential  friend?  No.  Not  on  the  night  of 
the  murder?  No,  nor  on  any  other  night.  Would 
she  swear  she  had  not  heard  that  Miss  Emory  had 
consented  to  become  Shaw's  wife?  She  had  already 
so  sworn.  Would  she  swear  it  again  ?  Yes,  as  many 
times  as  the  questioner  chose.  .  .  . 

Again  the  witness  turned  upon  her  assailant  and 
fought  him  off,  but  her  strength  was  ebbing  fast,  and 
Barstow  noting  this,  brought  tooth  and  claw  to  bear, 
hurling  merciless  questions  at  her  with  whirlwind 
force  and  speed,  until  the  victim  fairly  reeled  and  stag- 
gered, and  the  savage  spectacle  became  unendurably 
revolting. 

"Mr.  Barstow!" 

The  lawyer  swung  on  his  heel  as  he  heard  his  name, 
and  found  himself  confronting  the  defendant  who 
stood  gazing  anxiously  at  the  housekeeper's  ashen 
face. 

Instantly  he  motioned  her  to  her  seat,  but  she  paid 
no  attention  to  his  gesture,  and  when  he  turned  away 
again  she  once  more  uttered  his  name.  Then  he 
stepped  back,  and  without  taking  his  eyes  from  the 

232 


THE  ACCOMPLICE 

witness,  stooped  and  whispered  a  few  words  in  his 
client's  ear,  to  which  she  responded  rapidly  and 
earnestly,  and  I  could  see  the  man's  face  twitching 
with  annoyance  as  he  listened.  Suddenly  he  turned 
and  looked  the  defendant  squarely  in  the  eyes,  at 
the  same  time  speaking  a  few  emphatic  words,  and  I 
expected  the  episode  to  end  there,  but  Miss  Emory 
instantly  responded  in  an  equally  emphatic  manner, 
and  continued  speaking,  until  the  lawyer  interrupted 
her  by  moving  forward  to  the  rail  again,  roughly 
shaking  off  the  detaining  hand  which  she  had  laid 
upon  his  arm. 

The  room  had  watched  the  whispered  conference 
in  awed  astonishment,  and  as  Barstow's  harsh  voice 
broke  the  silence  many  eyes  were  still  turned  upon 
the  defendant  standing  resolutely  beside  her  chair. 

"Now  this  skirt  Miss  Emory  gave  you — was  that 
another  secret  between  you?" 

"No." 

The  answer  was  low  and  feeble.  Barstow  put  his 
hand  mockingly  behind  his  ear. 

"No — do  you  say?"  he  thundered.  "Give  me  the 
name  of  any  living  person  who  knew  of  her  gift!" 

The  witness  gazed  dumbly  at  her  questioner. 

"You  can't  give  me  any  such  name,  eh?" 

The  housekeeper  shook  her  head  at  the  tigerish 
eyes  glaring  hungrily  at  her. 

"Did  you  ever  wear  the  skirt?" 

"No." 

"Then  why  did  you  accept  it?" 
233 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"I  used  the  lining." 

"Wanted  to  rip  the  inside  of  it  out,  eh?  Well, 
now,  I'm  going  to  rip  the  inside  out  of  something 
else."  Barstow  stepped  forward  and  shot  his  fin- 
ger straight  at  the  woman's  eyes.  "Didn't  you  de- 
stroy that  skirt  on  the  morning  of  November  3d?" 
he  thundered.  "Deny  it  if  you  dare!" 

Miss  Mapes  leaned  forward  in  her  chair,  her  lips 
moving  silently  and  her  hands  clutching  the  air. 
Then  she  suddenly  swayed  and  fell  upon  her  face. 
Before  an  attendant  could  reach  the  prostrate 
woman,  Miss  Emory  darted  towards  her,  but  met 
Barstow's  restraining  arm.  Instantly  she  freed  her- 
self and  sprang  forward  again  with  such  impetuosity 
that  the  lawyer  had  to  hold  her  for  a  moment  in  his 
arms.  There  was  a  short  struggle,  and  then  she 
turned  upon  him  with  a  look  which  I  shall  never 
forget. 

"Let  me  go — you — you  coward!"  she  whispered, 
fiercely. 


XXV 

THE  whispered  outburst  had  no  sooner  passed  his 
client's  lips  than  Barstow  wheeled  about  and 
hastened  to  assist  the  attendants,  and  in  the  con- 
fusion of  the  moment  it  is  doubtful  if  many  of  the 
spectators  were  aware  of  the  defendant's  angry  clash 
with  her  adviser.  But  those  who  noticed  the  inci- 
dent had  no  opportunity  to  consider  its  meaning. 
The  moment  the  unconscious  witness  had  been  car- 
ried from  the  room  the  lawyers  were  again  in  collision, 
battling  over  the  question  of  postponement  —  the 
prosecutor  insisting  that  it  was  too  late  in  the  day 
to  continue  the  trial,  under  the  existing  circumstances, 
and  Barstow  vigorously  protesting  against  any  ad- 
journment. Finally  Judge  Dudley  compromised  the 
matter  by  ordering  a  recess  until  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  and  his  decision  was  no  sooner  announced 
than  we  were  on  our  way  from  the  court-room. 

Newsboys  met  us  at  the  door,  calling  the  afternoon 
editions  of  the  city  papers  containing  accounts  of  the 
trial,  and  to  my  astonishment  they  did  a  thriving 
business  with  the  outpouring  throng.  Why  people 
who  had  passed  an  entire  day  listening  to  the  Emory 
trial  should  want  to  spend  the  evening  reading  re- 
16  235 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

ports  of  it  was  more  than  I  could  imagine,  and  I  said 
as  much  to  Bayne  as  we  made  our  way  towards  the 
Melton  House. 

"They  want  to  know  what  they've  seen  and 
heard,"  he  answered.  "Most  people  mistrust  their 
own  ears  and  eyes  nowadays,  and  rely  on  the  news- 
papers to  set  'em  right.  By-the-way,  did  you  notice 
the  head-lines  of  the  sheet  one  of  those  boys  shoved 
under  my  nose?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Well,  I  couldn't  help  seeing  it,"  he  continued; 
"and  if  it  wasn't  against  the  rules  for  us  to  read 
about  the  trial,  I'd  like  to  know  what  else  they  had 
to  say  about  you." 

I  glanced  out  of  the  corner  of  my  eye  at  my  com- 
panion, and  caught  him  looking  slyly  at  me. 

"I'll  admit  I'm  human,  and  you've  roused  my 
curiosity,  if  that's  what  you  mean,"  I  answered, 
laughingly,  "but  I  think  I  can  wait." 

I  did  not  have  long  to  wait,  however,  for  we  had 
no  sooner  reached  the  Melton  House  than  somebody 
pushed  a  paper  at  me,  asking  if  I  recognized  myself, 
and  before  I  could  avoid  it,  I  had  seen  a  blurred  pho- 
tograph labelled  with  my  name  and  had  read  the 
flaring  head-lines,  which  proclaimed  that  the  foreman 
of  the  Emory  jury  had  delivered  a  staggering  blow  to 
the  defendant  and  enabled  the  prosecution  to  com- 
plete its  case. 

Although  I  instantly  thrust  the  sheet  aside,  and 
disposed  of  its  officious  owner  with  some  remarks 

236 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

more  pointed  than  polite,  I  could  not  rid  my  mind 
of  the  unpleasant  impression  it  had  received,  and  I 
retired  to  my  room  with  increased  anxiety  and  mis- 
giving.' The  head-lines  confirmed  my  worst  fears, 
and  made  me  realize  the  full  effect  of  my  irresponsible 
meddling. 

Gilbert  had  taken  advantage  of  my  opening  to 
score  his  heaviest  blow.  He  had  shown  a  motive  for 
the  murder,  and  I  was  at  a  loss  to  see  how  the  de- 
fendant could  meet  or  explain  away  the  facts  which 
the  testimony  had  unexpectedly  developed. 

Certainly  Barstow's  furious  attack  upon  Miss  Mapes 
— which  was  exactly  what  I  had  hoped  for  and  ex- 
pected earlier  in  the  day — had  not  counteracted  the 
effect  of  her  involuntary  admissions  against  the  ac- 
cused. In  fact,  it  had  done  more  harm  than  good. 
No  one  who  had  watched  the  woman  during  her  fear- 
ful ordeal  could  believe  that  she  was  treacherously 
endeavoring  to  shield  herself  at  Alice  Emory's  ex- 
pense. She  was  obviously  the  defendant's  friend — 
ill-advised,  meddlesome,  and  blundering,  but  un- 
unquestionably  well-intentioned.  Up  to  the  mo- 
ment of  recalling  her  to  the  witness-stand  I  was  con- 
fident that  she  was  the  guilty  party,  but  as  I  listened 
to  her  damaging  testimony  all  my  suspicions  faded. 

If  she  had  been  intriguing  to  implicate  Miss  Em- 
ory and  cover  her  own  tracks  she  would  have  wel- 
comed the  prosecutor's  inquiries  and  subtly  assisted 
him.  Instead  of  this  she  had  begun  by  opposing 
him,  and  ended  by  completely  losing  her  head  as  she 

237 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

realized  the  serious  injury  she  was  inflicting  upon  the 
defendant's  cause.  It  was  evident  that  she  had  not 
anticipated  the  questions  which  had  been  put  to  her, 
and  in  her  efforts  to  undo  the  mischief  she  had  com- 
pleted the  disaster.  Had  she  risen  to  the  occasion 
and  met  the  prosecutor  with  complete  frankness,  she 
might  have  retrieved  the  situation,  but  her  lame 
shifts  and  evasions,  and  obvious  mental  reservations, 
emphasized  every  damaging  word  she  had  uttered. 

It  was  then  too  late  for  Barstow  to  convince  the 
jury  that  she  was  capable  not  only  of  killing  an  enemy, 
but  also  of  sacrificing  a  friend.  The  character  did  not 
fit  her  in  the  least.  Her  appearance  on  the  stand, 
every  tone  and  gesture  she  employed,  denied  it.  His 
brutal  onslaught  had  elicited  testimony  which  might 
serve  as  the  basis  of  an  argument,  but  I  could  not  be- 
lieve that  any  one  who  had  seen  and  heard  the  woman 
would  credit  the  denunciation  which  the  lawyer  was 
evidently  preparing.  The  attack  was  too  virulent 
and  rancorous  to  divert  attention  from  the  defendant. 
It  smacked  of  desperate  spite  and  malice,  and  in 
my  opinion  it  had  originated  in  revenge.  The  wit- 
ness had  not  only  flouted  Barstow's  advice— she  had 
forced  his  hand  with  disastrous  results,  and  he  had 
turned  upon  her  in  a  frenzy  of  exasperation.  She 
might  be  Miss  Emory's  accomplice — and  there  was 
much  to  support  such  a  possibility — but  that  she 
was  attempting  to  convict  the  defendant  to  save  her- 
self seemed  to  me  nothing  less  than  preposterous. 

I  found  several  of  the  jurors  only  too  anxious  to 
238 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

discuss  the  case  when  we  assembled  at  the  supper- 
table,  but  they  received  no  encouragement,  and  after 
some  vain  inquiries  as  to  the  probable  duration  of 
the  night  session  they  subsided.  Indeed,  it  was  the 
quietest  repast  I  had  yet  experienced  in  the  com- 
pany of  the  Chain-Gang.  Even  Bayne  was  subdued 
and  thoughtful,  and  it  was  evident  that  my  associates 
were  beginning  to  realize  the  solemnity  of  the  duty 
which  lay  before  them.  Was  this  the  direct  result 
of  my  interference?  Had  Miss  Mapes's  testimony 
forced  them  to  consider  a  verdict  of  guilty  ? 

If  I  had  held  my  tongue  would  the  exchange  of 
rooms  have  remained  undiscovered?  It  was  more 
than  probable.  Barstow,  Miss  Mapes,  and  the  de- 
fendant were  the  only  persons  who  knew  of  it,  and 
some  miraculous  chance  had  diverted  Gilbert  from 
the  subject.  Why  had  I  not  had  sense  enough  to  let 
him  conduct  his  own  case?  I  might  have  suspected 
that  Barstow  had  good  grounds  for  excluding  the 
housekeeper's  testimony,  and  it  would  not  have  re- 
quired much  foresight  to  beware  of  the  special  fact 
which  she  had  obtruded  upon  me. 

I  confess  I  had  bitterly  repented  of  my  interven- 
tion, and  roundly  cursed  myself  for  a  meddling  fool 
before  we  rose  from  the  supper-table,  and  the  thought 
that  I  was  in  duty  bound  to  interfere,  and  could  not 
honorably  have  suppressed  my  information,  did  not 
comfort  or  reassure  me  in  the  least.  Indeed,  I  was 
so  nervous  and  irritable  that  I  could  not  sit  still, 
and  instead  of  accompanying  my  associates  to  the 

239 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

office,  I  remained  outside  pacing  up  and  down  the 
public  hall.  I  must  have  covered  half  a  mile  in  this 
way  when  the  front  door  opened,  and  I  found  myself 
face  to  face  with  Barbara  Frayne  and  the  Colonel. 
She  was  certainly  an  attractive  picture  as  she  stood 
in  the  doorway,  her  dark  olive-green  corduroy  skirt 
and  jacket  and  black  furs  slightly  sprinkled  with 
snow,  and  her  cheeks  glowing  with  color — but  I  drew 
back  as  though  a  ghost  confronted  me. 

"So  it's  you  who  are  tramping  up  and  down  this 
hall  like  a  caged  animal!"  she  exclaimed,  before  I 
recovered  from  my  surprise.  "I  caught  glimpses  of 
you  through  the  piazza  window,  but  didn't  think 
you  were  the  sort  to  take  exercise  in  the  house  such  a 
lovely  night  as  this." 

"We've  been  having  a  constitutional  on  the 
piazza,"  explained  the  Colonel.  "It's  like  being  on 
an  ocean-liner  in  a  snow-storm  out  there — the  wind's 
blowing  twenty  miles  an  hour,  and  the  air  is  a  posi- 
tive tonic." 

"Hurry  up  and  get  your  cigar,"  Miss  Barbara  di- 
rected. "It's  stifling  in  here,"  she  added,  throwing 
open  her  jacket. 

"Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  smoke  in  the  wind?" 
laughed  her  father.  "Not  much,  mademoiselle!  My 
tobacco's  too  good  to  waste.  You  wait  for  me  in  the 
ladies'  room,  and  I'll  come  for  you  in  fifteen  minutes. 
Have  a  cigar,  Lambert?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  I  answered.  "I  don't  feel  like 
smoking  to-night." 

240 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

The  Colonel  laid  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  and 
confidentially  tapped  my  chest. 

"Whenever  I  feel  that  way  I  go  and  see  a  doctor, 
my  boy,"  he  laughed.  "I'll  find  you  here  in  fifteen 
minutes,  Bab?"  he  added,  as  he  turned  towards  the 
office. 

"I  wouldn't  be  too  sure  of  it,"  she  answered, 
warningly.  "I  might  elope  with  Mr.  Lambert. 
Now  don't  be  shocked,"  she  continued,  as  the  Colonel 
disappeared.  "And  don't  look  disapproving,  or  I 
shall  say  something  really  worth  while." 

"Remember  you  are  not  infallible  in  interpreting 
my  expression,"  I  responded,  lightly. 

"Well,  I  know  a  tired  face  when  I  see  it,"  she  re- 
sponded. "You  need  a  tonic,  and  I  prescribe  some 
fresh  air.  Get  your  hat  and  coat  on,  and  we'll  walk 
off  some  of  the  effects  of  that  stuffy  court-room." 

"I'll  be  with  you  in  a  moment,"  I  answered,  run- 
ning quickly  up  the  stairs. 

When  I  returned  she  was  standing  in  front  of  the 
glass  endeavoring  to  fasten  the  collar  of  her  jacket, 
and  as  I  approached  she  abandoned  the  effort  with 
an  impatient  stamp  of  her  foot. 

"Please  see  if  you  can  hook  this!"  she  exclaimed, 
turning  to  me,  her  chin  raised  and  her  head  thrown 
back. 

"What  woman  cannot  join  together  let  no  man 
try  to  bungle,"  I  answered,  warningly,  as  I  laid  aside 
my  hat  and  took  the  ends  of  the  rebellious  collar  in 
my  fingers. 

241 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Practice  makes  perfect,"  she  quoted,  smilingly. 

"But  experiments  are  hard  on  the  victims,"  I  re- 
sponded, fumbling  the  hook  and  eye.  "I'm  afraid 
this  is  too  much  for  me,"  I  added,  as  I  again  missed 
connections. 

"I  have  every  confidence  in  you,"  she  answered, 
slowly. 

I  thought  I  detected  a  double  meaning  in  the  words, 
but  instantly  condemned  myself  for  a  fool  of  one  idea. 

"I'm  afraid  your  confidence  is  misplaced,"  I  an- 
swered. "I  am  a  desperate  bungler." 

"You  are  too  easily  discouraged.  I  have  not  lost 
faith  in  you  for  one  moment.  You  are  doing  better 
than  you  think." 

The  words  were  lightly,  almost  jestingly,  spoken, 
but  this  time  there  was  no  mistaking  their  under- 
lying meaning.  Had  she  told  me  in  the  plainest 
language  that  she  understood  and  appreciated  what 
I  had  tried  to  do  in  the  Emory  case,  the  message 
could  not  have  been  clearer.  I  had  expected  her  to 
hold  me  responsible  for  the  disastrous  developments 
of  the  last  hours,  and  to  shun  me  accordingly,  and  I 
had  prepared  myself  to  play  the  part  of  a  martyr 
to  duty  as  sternly  and  conscientiously  as  the  circum- 
stances demanded.  Her  words,  however,  indicated 
not  only  sympathy  but  encouragement,  unshaken 
confidence  and  a  reliance,  which  had  in  it  a  note  of 
personal  appeal.  In  the  joy  of  the  discovery,  I  could 
scarcely  refrain  from  clasping  her  in  my  arms  as  she 
stood  smiling  up  at  me. 

242 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"I  never  understood  before  what  justification  by 
faith  meant,"  I  admitted,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Do  you  now?" 

"I  think  so.  I  will  tell  you  what  your  faith  means 
to  me.  It  means — " 

"Have  you  justified  it?     Is  the  hook  caught?" 

The  hurried  interruption  carried  a  warning  which 
I  could  not  disregard. 

"Almost,"  I  answered,  smilingly.  "It  is  easier 
for  a  camel  to  go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle  than  it 
is  for  a  man  to  thread  one ;  and  this  hook —  There ! 
It's  caught  at  last." 

"Thank  goodness!"  she  gasped.  "I  would  have 
had  to  breathe  in  another  minute." 

I  laughed  responsively  at  her  comical  expression 
of  relief,  and,  drawing  on  my  overcoat,  threw  open 
the  door. 

"There!  Isn't  this  refreshing?"  she  continued. 
"Where  are  my  gloves,  I  wonder?"  she  added,  glanc- 
ing about  her.  '  Oh,  I  remember.  Here  they  are. 
Now  we're  ready.  Keep  this  for  me,  will  you,  please  ? 

She  took  something  from  her  muff  and  thrust  it 
in  my  overcoat-pocket  as  she  spoke,  and  as  I  followed 
her  through  the  door  I  discovered  that  it  was  a  copy 
of  the  evening  paper  with  the  screaming  head-lines. 
Without  a  word  of  comment,  I  slipped  it  into  the  side 
pocket  of  my  house-coat,  and  before  I  had  time  to 
consider  the  incident  my  companion  urged  me  into  a 
brisk  walk,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  had  forgotten  it 
completely. 

243 


XXVI 

ALTHOUGH  I  returned  to  the  court-house  great- 
I~\  ly  refreshed  in  mind  and  body,  I  had  no  sooner 
resumed  my  seat  in  the  jury  -  box  than  I  became 
conscious  of  an  unconquerable  feeling  of  dread, 
which  speedily  unnerved  and  depressed  me.  Per- 
haps it  was  because  I  had  never  before  seen  it  by 
night,  but  the  court-room  looked  unfamiliar  to  my 
eyes — its  bare  walls  draped  with  heavy  shadows 
cast  by  the  green -shaded  lamps,  its  crude,  dingy 
furniture  looming  up  monstrously  from  a  black  back- 
ground, and  the  rows  of  faces  staring  from  the  public 
benches  showing  ghastly  white  in  the  sombre  light. 
Apparently  I  was  not  the  only  one  who  felt  the 
chilling  influence  of  the  place,  for  there  was  no  buzz- 
ing and  chattering  such  as  had  prefaced  the  day 
sessions,  and  the  silence  was  broken  only  by  an  oc- 
casional whisper  or  cough.  Indeed,  the  spectators 
might  have  been  assembled  for  worship,  so  solemnly 
and  silently  did  they  sit  in  their  places  waiting  for 
the  entrance  of  the  Judge. 

Gilbert  was  already  in  his  place,  engaged  in  close 
consultation  with  his  assistants  when  I  arrived,  and 
shortly  afterwards  Miss  Emory  entered  with  the 

244 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

sheriff  and  seated  herself  quietly  at  the  counsels' 
table.  This  was  the  first  time  she  had  appeared  un- 
accompanied by  her  counsel,  and  her  stormy  clash 
with  Barstow  instantly  recurred  to  my  mind.  Was 
her  quiet  entrance  a  sequel  of  that  episode,  and,  if 
so,  what  did  it  portend? 

As  I  asked  myself  these  questions,  Colonel  Frayne 
and  his  daughter  entered,  but  instead  of  seating  them- 
selves, as  usual,  among  the  other  spectators,  they 
moved  to  the  front  of  the  room  and  began  conversing 
with  Miss  Emory  in  low  tones.  The  moment  Bar- 
stow  appeared,  however,  they  rose,  and,  hastily  clasp- 
ing the  defendant's  hands,  made  their  way  back  to 
the  public  benches. 

Barstow  greeted  his  client  courteously,  but  without 
the  least  suggestion  of  the  solicitude  he  had  displayed 
in  the  morning,  and  when  she  addressed  him  I  saw 
him  frown  impatiently  and  turn  abruptly  to  his 
books  and  papers  over  which  he  busied  himself  for 
some  minutes.  Then  he  suddenly  swung  around, 
and,  leaning  forward,  looked  straight  into  his  client's 
eyes,  whispering  rapidly  and  earnestly,  and  empha- 
sizing his  remarks  with  blows  of  his  fist  upon  his 
open  palm.  Miss  Emory  lowered  her  gaze  as  she 
listened,  but  I  saw  her  shake  her  head  again  and 
again,  as  though  she  were  not  persuaded  by  his  ar- 
guments, whatever  they  were,  and  evidently  there 
was  some  irreconcilable  difference  between  her  and 
her  adviser.  Finally  Barstow  became  aware  that 
the  jurors  were  watching  the  conference,  and  he  in- 

245 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

stantly  brought  it  to  a  close,  and  almost  at  the  same 
moment  the  attendant  pounded  his  warning  on  the 
side  door,  and  the  Judge  entered,  bowing  as  usual  to 
the  audience  as  he  took  his  seat. 

His  Honor  gave  immediate  attention  to  some 
papers  which  had  been  laid  before  him,  and  the 
room  watched  him  in  silence  as  he  read  them,  his 
white  face  looking  sterner  and  older  in  the  light  of 
the  green-shaded  lamps  on  the  tall  standards  at 
either  side  of  his  desk.  At  last  he  looked  up  and 
cast  a  quick  glance  over  the  room. 

"All  witnesses  in  the  case  on  trial  will  retire  to 
my  room  and  wait  there  until  called,"  he  ordered. 
"Make  haste,  if  you  please,"  he  added,  sharply,  as 
the  exodus  began.  "Mr.  Barstow,"  he  continued, 
"I  am  advised  that  the  witness  Mapes  will  be  here 
within  an  hour,  if  you  wish  to  continue  your  cross- 
examination." 

"Very  well,  your  Honor.  May  I  be  advised  of 
her  arrival?" 

"Certainly.  Now,  Mr.  Gilbert,  call  your  next 
witness." 

"Bettina  Field,"  announced  the  prosecutor. 

The  door  opened,  but  some  moments  elapsed  be- 
fore the  timid,  shrinking  housemaid  appeared  on  the 
threshold,  and  I  felt  a  thrill  of  pity  for  her  as  she 
wandered  blindly  towards  the  counsels'  table  and 
halted  there  irresolutely.  A  court  -  attendant  hur- 
ried forward,  and  taking  her  arm  led  her  to  the  wit- 
ness-chair, but  even  when  she  had  mounted  the  one- 

246 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

step  platform  she  stood  there  dumbly  staring  at  the 
audience.  Finally  the  official  gently  forced  her  to 
sit  down,  and  she  yielded  like  a  somnambulist,  ap- 
parently unconscious  of  her  surroundings. 

Her  answers  to  Gilbert's  opening  questions  were 
scarcely  more  than  whispers,  and  as  the  prosecutor  re- 
peated them  to  the  jury  he  moved  back  until  he  ad- 
dressed her  from  the  far  end  of  the  jury-box — little  by 
little  coaxing  her  to  raise  her  voice. 

But  although  he  continued  to  handle  her  with  con- 
summate tact  and  gentleness,  the  girl  grew  more  and 
more  frightened  as  the  examination  proceeded,  and 
before  the  preliminary  questions  ended  her  responses 
had  become  mere  incoherent  murmurs,  and  the  prose- 
cutor, abandoning  all  efforts  to  reassure  her,  pressed 
directly  to  his  point. 

"Miss  Field,  did  you  ever  see  the  defendant,  Miss 
Alice  Emory,  wearing  a  blue  cloth  skirt?" 

The  instant  she  comprehended  the  question,  I 
could  see  the  poor  creature  nerving  herself  for  a 
tremendous  effort,  and  her  eyes  suddenly  centred 
on  mine  as  though  appealing  to  me  for  protection 
and  support.  After  a  pause  the  answer  came  in 
a  frightened  gasp. 

"No." 

"Or  Miss  Mapes?" 

"No." 

"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  thing  as  a  blue  cloth 
skirt  in  Mr.  Shaw's  house?" 

The  witness  positively  clung  to  me  with  her  eyes. 
247 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"No,"  she  answered,  firmly. 

There  was  desperate  courage  in  the  utterance  of 
that  lie,  and  I  could  not  help  admiring  the  woman 
for  it. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  which  looked  like  a 
blue  cloth  skirt  in  Miss  Mapes's  possession?" 

The  jurors,  leaning  forward  and  listening  intently, 
could  scarcely  hear  the  whispered  denial. 

"Speak  up,  Miss  Field,"  the  prosecutor  prompted. 
"We  must  hear  your  answer.  Yes  or  no?" 

The  witness's  eyes  questioned  me  wildly,  implor- 
ingly, but  at  last  she  shook  her  head.  Her  search- 
ing gaze  was  becoming  exceedingly  uncomfortable, 
and  I  knew  the  prosecutor  was  beginning  to  notice 
it,  but  I  did  not  have  the  heart  to  deny  the  pitiful 
encouragement  which  she  seemed  to  derive  from  con- 
centrating her  gaze  on  my  face. 

"Look  at  me,  Miss  Field!" 

The  girl  started  and  glanced  tremblingly  at  her 
questioner,  but  her  eyes  instantly  reverted  to  me  as 
Gilbert  repeated  his  unanswered  question. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  resembling  a  blue 
cloth  skirt  in  Miss  Mapes's  possession?" 

"No-o,  sir." 

"Have  you  ever  had  any  conversation  with  Miss 
Emory  about  a  blue  cloth  skirt?" 

"Never." 

"But  you  have  talked  with  Miss  Mapes  concerning 
it,  haven't  you?" 

"No." 

248 


Gilbert  watched  the  girl  as  he  put  the  questions, 
but  his  glance  turned  to  me  as  she  answered,  and  I 
felt  myself  flushing  under  his  obvious  scrutiny. 

"Is  there  a  furnace  in  the  Shaw  farm-house?" 

"Ye-es,  sir." 

I  trembled  with  excitement  as  the  girl  uttered  the 
faltering  answer.  Would  she  be  able  to  withstand 
the  strain  of  the  next  questions  ?  Her  eyes  never 
left  mine  for  an  instant,  and  I  grew  more  restless  and 
uncomfortable  under  Gilbert's  close  surveillance. 

"Did  you  ever  see  anything  resembling  a  blue 
cloth  skirt  in  that  furnace?" 

The  witness  opened  her  mouth,  and  her  lips  moved, 
but  no  sound  issued  from  them.  The  prosecutor  re- 
peated his  inquiry,  and  I  could  actually  feel  the 
woman  imploring  me  to  aid  her  as  she  struggled  to 
reply. 

"I  must  have  an  answer  we  can  understand,  Miss 
Field.  Look  at  me.  Did  you  ever  see  the  skirt  I 
have  described,  or  any  part  of  it,  in  the  furnace  of 
the  Shaw  house?" 

"No!" 

The  answer  burst  from  her  like  a  cry,  and,  unable 
to  bear  her  terrified  glance  any  longer,  I  leaned  back 
in  my  chair  and  shielded  my  face  with  my  hand. 

"That  is  all,  Miss  Field." 

"No  questions." 

I  did  not  look  up  as  Barstow  spoke,  but  pressed 
my  fingers  firmly  upon  my  eyelids  in  an  effort  to  blot 
out  the  picture.  I  could  hear  the  witness  leaving 

249 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

the  stand,  but  almost  every  step  she  took  across  the 
bare  floor  echoed  back  to  me  with  a  question. 

.  .  .  Could  I  not  have  put  questions  to  her  which 
would  have  shown  that  she  was  lying?  Could 
I  not  have  compelled  her  to  admit  her  conversation 
with  Miss  Mapes  which  I  had  overheard?  Was  I 
not  hiding  something  from  the  Court  because  of 
Barbara  Frayne's  interest  in  the  case?  Did  I  not 
feel  sure  that  Miss  Mapes  had  told  the  woman  that 
I  was  a  friend,  and  advised  her  to  watch  me  if  she 
needed  encouragement  in  her  falsehoods?  Was  not 
my  silence  dishonorable  and  dishonoring?  Was  I 
not  becoming  an  accessory  by  suppressing  my  guilty 
knowledge  of  the  facts?  Was  I  not  practically  con- 
niving at  perjury  ?  Had  I  not  sworn  to  myself  that 
I  would  supply  the  necessary  facts,  if  the  lawyers 
should  fail  to  bring  them  out?  Had  I  done  enough 
to  satisfy  honor  and  duty?  Was  I  bound  to — 

The  door  of  the  Judge's  private  room  opened  and 
closed.  The  witness  had  gone,  and  with  her  de- 
parture I  felt  myself  an  accomplice  in  the  crime.  I 
passed  my  hand  over  my  forehead,  and,  opening  my 
eyes,  found  Gilbert  watching  me  with  a  troubled  ex- 
pression, his  forehead  wrinkled,  and  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  drawn  down  in  deep  -  set  lines.  Finally  he 
roused  himself  with  an  effort  and  turned  to  the 
Court. 

"Your  Honor,"  he  began,  speaking  slowly,  and 
with  impressive  gravity,  "I  am  now  about  to  take 
a  step  which  I  have  never  yet  resorted  to  in  my  en- 

250 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

tire  professional  career.  It  is  a  move  which  can  be 
justified  only  by  necessity,  but  I  trust  the  Court  will 
believe  that  I  do  not  act  without  long  and  painful 
deliberation." 

Judge  Dudley  gazed  at  the  earnest  face  of  the 
speaker  with  an  expression  of  calm  dignity,  and 
gravely  inclined  his  head. 

"The  Court  has  every  confidence  in  the  prose- 
cutor's judgment,"  he  observed.  "Proceed,  sir." 

Gilbert  turned  quickly  on  his  heel  and  faced  the 
jury-box. 

"Mr.  Lambert,  please  take  the  stand,"  he  requested. 

I  stared  at  the  speaker  in  astonishment,  scarcely 
believing  my  ears,  but  before  I  had  completed  the 
wondering  inquiry  which  rose  to  my  lips  Barstow 
had  interrupted  with  a  protesting  roar. 


XXVII 

\7"OUR   Honor,   this  is  outrageous,  barefaced  in- 
I    timidation  of  the  jury!     I  object  and  protest! 
You  cannot  tolerate  such  action,  sir!     It  is  insulting 
to  the  dignity  of  the  Court!" 

The  passionate  outburst  brought  half  the  spectators 
to  their  feet,  and  the  gavel  crashed  upon  the  desk 
again  and  again — the  Judge  leaning  towards  the  ex- 
cited audience  in  a  threatening  attitude. 

"Sit  down!"  he  shouted,  angrily.  "Be  seated 
every  one  of  you!  Another  minute  and  I'll  clear  the 
benches.  Officer,  arrest  the  next  man  or  woman  who 
rises!" 

The  commotion  gradually  subsided,  but  the  old 
Jurist  continued  glaring  indignantly  at  the  crowd 
for  some  seconds  after  order  was  restored.  Then  he 
turned  to  Barstow  with  an  expression  of  menacing 
severity. 

"The  Court  takes  this  occasion  to  advise  counsel," 
he  observed,  "that  it  is  entirely  competent  to  pro- 
tect itself,  and  requires  no  instruction  as  to  what 
is  or  is  not  insulting  to  its  dignity.  Now,  sir,  pro- 
ceed." 

Barstow  shot  an  angry  glance  at  the  speaker. 
252 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"I  am  an  officer  of  this  court,"  he  began,  in  an 
ugly  tone,  "and  as  such  I  have  the  right — " 

"Address  yourself  to  the  business  in  hand,  Mr. 
Barstow,  if  you  wish  to  be  heard." 

The  lawyer  received  the  sharp  interruption  with 
a  savage  glare  of  resentment,  and  took  a  step  towards 
the  Bench,  his  heavy  head  thrust  forward,  and  the 
great  cords  of  his  muscular  neck  standing  out 
tensely.  Then  he  nodded  slowly  as  though  to  some 
satisfying  thought,  and  turned  to  the  stenographer. 

"Is  my  objection  recorded?"  he  inquired. 

The  official  glanced  at  his  notes  and  silently  as- 
sented. 

"Very  well  then.     That's  enough." 

Barstow  resumed  his  seat  as  he  spoke,  thrust  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  tipped  his  chair  back,  and 
stared  defiantly  at  the  Bench. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  be  heard,  sir  ?"  inquired  the  Judge. 

The  lawyer  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Unless  I'm  allowed  to  characterize  this  proceed- 
ing as  I  see  fit,"  he  muttered,  "there's  nothing  to  be 
said.  In  twenty  years'  practice  I've  never  known  a 
juror  to  be  called  as  a  witness  in  the  cause  he  was 
selected  to  try,  and  I  venture  to  predict  that  this 
Court  will  never  countenance  any  such  procedure. 
The  idea  is  monstrous  and  deserves  rebuke,  not 
reply." 

The  Judge  glanced  at  Gilbert  as  Barstow  paused, 
and  the  prosecutor  instantly  rose. 

"If  the  Court  please,"  he  began,  "if  my  learned 
253 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

friend  protests  solely  upon  the  ground  that  my  ac- 
tion has  no  precedent  in  his  experience,  then  I  sub- 
mit his  objection  is  not  well  taken,  for,  as  your  Honor 
is  aware,  what  I  propose  has  both  warrant  and  au- 
thority in  law.  Indeed,  I  will  go  further  and  say 
that  the  Court  has  no  discretion  whatsoever  in  the 
matter,  for  the  section  of  the  Code  which  I  invoke  is 
mandatory  and  positive  in  its  terms." 

The  speaker  paused,  and,  turning  to  the  table, 
picked  up  an  open  book,  and  again  faced  the  Court. 

"'//  a  juror  have  any  personal  knowledge  of  any 
fact  in  controversy  in  a  cause' "  he  read,  "'he  must  de- 
clare it  in  open  court  during  the  trial — and  the  juror 
making  the  statement  must  be  sworn  as  a  witness  and 
be  examined  in'  the  presence  of  the  parties.'  Now  I 
charge,"  he  continued,  "that  Mr.  James  Lambert, 
the  foreman  of  this  jury,  has  personal  knowledge  of 
facts  in  this  cause,  and  he  must  be  sworn  and  ex- 
amined as  a  witness." 

"Your  Honor,  this  is  atrocious!"  Barstow  burst 
out.  "The  Court  is  well  aware  that  Mr.  Lambert's 
alleged  knowledge  was  thoroughly  investigated  be- 
fore one  word  of  testimony  was  taken  in  this  case, 
and  the  question  was  disposed  of  then  and  there  by 
your  Honor  in  person,  and  cannot  now  be  reopened." 

"If  something  has  come  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
prosecutor  since  Mr.  Lambert  was  examined — "  be- 
gan the  Justice. 

"Will  your  Honor  interrogate  the  juror?"  suggest- 
ed Gilbert. 

254 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"I  object,"  Barstow  interrupted.  "The  Court 
cannot  countenance  this  proceeding  in  any  manner 
whatsoever.  If  it  does  the  case  may  as  well  end 
here  and  now,  for  no  adverse  verdict  rendered  by  a 
jury  under  such  circumstances  would  stand  for  one 
moment  on  appeal." 

"I  will  assume  the  responsibility  of  sustaining  the 
verdict  in  this  case,"  retorted  Gilbert,  meaningly. 

"Of  course  you  will,"  sneered  Barstow.  "But  I 
warn  you  there's  enough  queer  law  in  this  case  al- 
ready to  keep  you  busy  without  making  it  utterly 
ridiculous." 

"The  Court  warns  you,  sir,"  interrupted  Judge 
Dudley,  "to  withdraw  those  remarks  and  apologize!" 

Barstow  listened  to  the  admonition  with  an  of- 
fensive smile,  and  there  was  an  evil  gleam  in  his 
eyes  as  he  watched  the  venerable  face  behind  the 
desk. 

"I  withdraw  my  remarks  and  apologize,"  he  an- 
swered, sullenly.  "I  admit  my  manners  are  not  as 
good  as  the  prosecutor's,"  he  added.  "But  my  law 
is  better." 

Every  note  in  the  man's  voice  was  irritating,  and 
I  began  to  suspect  that  he  was  deliberately  seeking 
to  anger  the  Judge,  but  how  he  dared  rouse  the  old 
gentleman  at  such  a  crisis  passed  my  comprehen- 
sion. Suddenly  it  occurred  to  me  that  he  might 
be  endeavoring  to  provoke  the  Court  into  deciding 
against  him,  and  as  I  remembered  his  boast  that 
any  adverse  verdict  of  the  jury  would  be  over- 

255 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

turned  by  the  higher  courts,  if  the  prosecutor's  request 
should  be  granted,  I  became  convinced  that  this  was 
his  settled  purpose. 

"Mr.  Lambert,  I  will  ask  you — 

I  leaned  forward  as  the  Judge  addressed  me,  but 
Barstow  waved  me  back  with  both  his  arms. 

"Don't  answer  the  question,  Mr.  Foreman,"  he 
shouted.  "I  object,  your  Honor!  I  object!  If 
you  interrogate  the  juror  now,  I  warn  you  the  case 
is  ended,  and  you  will  be  held  responsible — ' 

"I  will  be  held  responsible!"  the  old  gentleman 
thundered,  his  face  flushing  with  anger.  "What  do 
you  mean,  sir?  You  are  offensive,  and — and  in- 
solent, sir,  and  I  warn  you  to — to —  Your  objection 
is  overruled,  sir.  Now  sit  down." 

"Exception!" 

Barstow's  eyes  were  glittering  with  excitement, 
and  I  could  see  faint  traces  of  a  dangerous  smile  on 
his  lips  as  he  uttered  the  sinister  rejoinder. 

"Mr.  Lambert,  have  you  any  personal  knowledge 
of  any  fact  in  controversy  in  this  cause?" 

I  waited  for  Barstow  to  renew  his  protest,  but  he 
let  the  Judge's  question  pass  without  objection. 

"I  have,"  I  answered,  firmly.  "And  your  Honor 
was  advised  of  the  fact  before  this  trial  began." 

Barstow  swung  on  his  heel  and  faced  the  Court 
with  an  air  of  triumph. 

"I  renew  my  objection!"  he  exclaimed.  "Your 
Honor  had  full  opportunity  to  question  this  juror 
at  the  proper  time,  and  took  it  upon  yourself  to — " 

256 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"And  I  now  take  it  upon  myself  to  put  him  on 
the  stand,"  interrupted  the  Justice,  thunderingly. 
"Take  a  seat  in  the  witness-chair,  Mr.  Lambert,  and 
be  sworn." 

"I  object  to  the  juror's  leaving  the  jury-box  and 
to  the  Court's  instructions." 

"Objection  overruled." 

"Exception!" 

"Mr.  Lambert,  do  you  solemnly  swear — " 

"I  object  to  the  juror's  being  sworn  as  a  witness." 

' '  Objection  overruled . ' ' 

"Exception!" 

"Mr.  Lambert,  do  you  solemnly  swear  that  such 
answers  as  you  shall  make  in  this  cause,  between  the 
People  and  Alice  Emory,  shall  be  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  so  help  you  God?" 

I  bowed  my  head  over  the  Bible  which  the  court- 
attendant  placed  in  my  hand,  and,  looking  up,  met 
Barstow's  evil  leer  of  triumph. 

"Now,  Mr.  Gilbert,  proceed  with  your  examina- 
tion," directed  the  Judge. 

I  have  heard  actors  say  that  the  largest  theatre 
appears  small  from  the  foot-lights,  and  the  audience 
much  closer  to  the  stage  than  it  really  is,  but  I  never 
realized  the  mental  effect  of  this  optical  illusion  un- 
til I  seated  myself  in  the  witness-chair  and  faced  the 
prosecutor.  Not  only  did  the  court-room  seem 
cramped  and  small,  but  the  spectators  appeared  to 
have  crept  towards  me  until  they  sat  huddled  at  my 
very  feet,  breathing  directly  into  my  face,  almost 

257 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

suffocating  me  in  their  eager  crowding.  Barbara 
Frayne  sat  seemingly  only  a  foot  or  so  away,  one 
hand  clasping  her  father's,  and  the  other  pressed 
tightly  across  her  lips,  as  though  to  keep  from  cry- 
ing out,  while  her  frightened  eyes  met  mine  without 
recognition  or  response.  Moreover,  the  confusion  of 
countless  witnesses  must  have  bewitched  the  chair  in 
which  I  sat,  for  my  brain  whirled  madly,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment I  could  not  have  told  the  prosecutor  my  name. 

"Mr.  Lambert,  declare  any  fact  of  which  you  have 
personal  knowledge  affecting  this  cause." 

Barstow's  arm  shot  out,  and  his  hand  fluttered  in 
protest  as  the  prosecutor  framed  his  question. 

"Don't  answer,  Mr.  Lambert!"  he  shouted.  "I 
object!" 

I  had  no  thought  of  answering,  but  my  respite 
was  short-lived. 

"Objection  overruled,"  snapped  the  Justice. 

"Exception!" 

Gilbert  repeated  his  question,  and  as  he  phrased  it 
I  partially  regained  my  self-possession. 

"Shortly  after  the  close  of  the  first  day  of  this 
trial,"  I  began,  "I  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  the 
Shaw  farm-house,  and,  never  having  seen  it,  I  stopped 
and  inspected  it  from  the  outside,  and  while  doing 
this  I  inadvertently  heard  a  conversation  between 
Miss  Madeleine  Mapes  and  Miss  Bettina  Field." 

"Stop!"  thundered  Barstow.  "I  object!  This  is 
not  the  witness's  personal  knowledge — it  is  hear- 
say— and  not  binding  on — " 

258 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Objection  overruled  and  exception  granted,"  in- 
terposed the  Judge.  "Now,  Mr.  Barstow,"  he  con- 
tinued, "to  save  further  interruption,  it  is  understood 
that  you  object  to  each  and  every  statement  of  this 
witness,  and  each  of  your  objections  is  overruled  and 
an  exception  noted.  Will  that  satisfy  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,  and  I  am  also  satisfied  that  the  further 
continuance  of  this  trial  is  a  waste  of  time,  and  I  re- 
quest you  to  discharge  the  jury." 

"I  decline  to  grant  the  request." 

"Exception." 

Barstow  sat  down,  and,  turning  his  back  to  the 
Bench,  began  a  whispered  conversation  with  his  client. 

"Proceed,  Mr.  Lambert,"  prompted  his  Honor. 
"How  did  you  know  that  the  persons  you  heard 
conversing  were  Miss  Mapes  and  Miss  Field?" 

"I  saw  them,  and  they  have  answered  to  those 
names  in  the  court-room." 

"Very  well,  sir.  What  did  they  say  touching  any 
fact  in  this  case?" 

"I  cannot  remember  the  exact  words  which  were 
used,"  I  answered,  "but  they  were  talking  about 
this  case,  and  Miss  Mapes  urged  Miss  Field  to  be 
careful  what  she  testified  to  on  the  trial." 

"Did  she  say  why  she  should  be  careful?" 

I  hesitated  before  I  turned  to  meet  the  Judge's 
inquiring  glance. 

"  I  cannot  remember  her  exact  words,"  I  responded. 

"Never  mind  the  exact  words.  State  the  sub- 
stance of  the  conversation." 

259 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"As  nearly  as  I  can  remember,"  I  answered,  speak- 
ing to  the  jury,  "Miss  Mapes  warned  the  other  wom- 
an that  if  she  talked  too  much,  or  became  confused, 
she  might  be  guilty  of  murder." 

I  could  feel  the  effect  of  my  answer  in  the  solemn 
hush  which  followed. 

"Did  they  talk  about  any  particular  facts  in  the 
case?" 

The  Judge's  question  sounded  as  though  whis- 
pered in  my  ear. 

"Yes,  the  subject  of  the  blue  skirt  was  discussed, 
and  Miss  Field  asked  Miss  Mapes  how  she  was  to 
answer  certain  questions  which  might  be  asked  con- 
cerning it." 

"Such  as  what?" 

"Miss  Field  seemed  to  fear  she  might  be  asked  if 
she  had  ever  seen  the  blue  skirt,  and  Miss  Mapes  told 
her  to  say  she  hadn't.  Then  Miss  Field  said  some- 
thing about  having  seen  it  in  the  furnace,  and  Miss 
Mapes  asserted  that  her  companion  didn't  really 
know  that  it  was  a  skirt  she  had  seen  there,  and  ad- 
vised her  to  deny  all  knowledge  of  it." 

Often  as  I  had  thought  of  this  conversation,  I 
never  realized  the  damning  effect  of  it  until  I  re- 
peated it  in  court,  and  the  silence  which  followed  was 
ominous  of  the  impression  it  created. 

"Did  you  hear  anything  else?" 

I  hesitated  as  Gilbert  put  the  question,  and  I  saw 
Barstow  watching  me  narrowly. 

"Yes,"  I  answered,  steadily,  "I  heard  a  conversa- 
260 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

tion  between  Miss  Mapes  and  a  man  who  claimed  to 
represent  Mr.    Barstow,  in  which   Miss  Mapes  was 
urged  to  leave  the  State  with  the  Field  girl  and  re- 
main away  until  after  the  trial." 
"  Did  you  learn  the  man's  name  ?" 
"Miss  Mapes  referred  to  him  as  Mr.  Hunt." 
Gilbert  paused,  and,  turning  to  one  of  his  assist- 
ants, stooped  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

"Have  you  anything  further  to  declare,  Mr.  Lam- 
bert?" he  inquired. 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  responded.  "I  received  information 
over  the  telephone  that  Miss  Mapes  had  occupied 
Miss  Emory's  room  on  the  night  of  Mr.  Shaw's 
death,  but  I  cannot  positively  swear  who  talked  to 
me  over  the  wire." 

"Did  you  recognize  the  voice?" 
"I  am  not  sure." 

"Whose  voice  did  you  think  it  was?" 
"I  prefer  not  to  express  an  opinion,  your  Honor." 
"Very  well,  sir.     Continue,  if  you  please." 
Barstow  rose,  and,  moving  to  the  far  end  of  the 
jury  -  box,   stood   watching   me   with   embarrassing 
intensity. 

"The  night  before  last,  a  few  minutes  after  I  re- 
ceived the  telephone  communication,"  I  continued, 
"I  was  interviewed  by  a  person  whose  voice  I  recog- 
nized as  the  man  called  Hunt,  who  had  talked  with 
Miss  Mapes  in  the  Shaw  farm-house.  He  introduced 
himself,  however,  as  Mr.  Abel  Corning,  one  of  the 
prosecutor's  assistants,  and  attempted  to  find  out 

261 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

what  I  had  learned  about  the  case  outside  the  court- 
room, saying  that  if  I  would  tell  him  everything  he 
would  endeavor  to  persuade  the  Court  to  excuse  me 
from  serving  on  the  jury.  I  declined  to  give  him 
any  information,  and  yesterday  I  encountered  him 
driving  Miss  Mapes  and  Miss  Field  in  a  closed  car- 
riage along  the  Pollicet  road." 

"Did  you  have  any  conversation  with  him  then?" 

"No,  sir.  There  was  an  accident,  as  I  think  your 
Honor  knows,  and  the  man  was  badly  injured.  I 
know  nothing  more  about  this  case  except  what  I 
have  heard  in  the  court-room." 

Gilbert  turned  and  nodded  to  his  assistant,  who 
immediately  rose  and  left  the  room. 

"I  have  no  further  questions  to  ask,  your  Honor." 

"Now,  Mr.  Barstow." 

The  Judge  glanced  at  the  defendant's  counsel, 
who  still  stood  beside  the  jury-box,  but  the  lawyer, 
instead  of  answering  directly,  moved  to  the  rail  and 
addressed  the  stenographer. 

"Counsel  for  the  defendant  does  not  participate  in 
the  examination  of  the  juror,"  he  dictated,  "but  he 
requests  the  Court  to  take  notice  that  the  witness- 
juror  carries  in  his  pocket  a  newspaper  containing  an 
account  of  this  trial,  and  praising  his  efforts  on  be- 
half of  the  prosecution. 

I  clapped  my  hand  against  my  side,  and  discovered 
with  dismay  that  the  sheet  Miss  Frayne  had  given 
me  was  protruding  from  my  pocket.  It  needed 
only  this  to  complete  my  humiliation  and  chagrin, 

262 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

and  I  felt  my  face  crimsoning  as  I  turned  to  the 
Bench. 

"I  have  not  read  the  paper,  your  Honor,"  I  blurted 
out.  "  It  was  intrusted  to  me  for  safe-keeping,  and  I 
have  seen  nothing  but  the  head-lines,  and  those  only 
by  accident." 

There  was  a  titter  in  the  audience,  and  as  I  glanced 
over  the  room  I  saw  Barbara  Frayne  rising  from  her 
seat,  and  instinctively  I  shook  my  head. 

"Do  you  demand  the  discharge  of  the  juror  upon 
the  ground  that  he  has  this  newspaper  in  his  pos- 
session?" 

Barstow  hesitated,  watching  me  with  an  insin- 
uating smile. 

"It  isn't  necessary,"  he  responded,  at  last.  "One 
good  reason  is  enough,  and,  having  given  more  than 
one  already,  I  will  let  well  enough  alone." 

If  the  Judge  had  been  upon  the  point  of  yielding, 
Barstow's  indifferent  —  almost  contemptuous — an- 
swer would  have  changed  his  mind,  and  I  could  not 
understand  the  man's  deliberate  offensiveness.  Then 
suddenly  it  dawned  upon  me  that  he  wished  me  to 
retain  my  place  in  the  jury-box,  feeling  sure  that  I 
would  not  dare  render  a  verdict  of  guilty  after  hav- 
ing been  publicly  accused  of  prejudice.  I  answered 
his  glance  with  a  haughty  stare  of  defiance  as  the 
thought  crossed  my  mind,  and  at  the  same  instant 
Judge  Dudley  addressed  me. 

"Mr.  Lambert,"  he  began,  "answer  me  on  your 
oath  as  a  juror.  Have  the  facts  and  occurrences 

263 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

which  you  have  related  had  such  an  effect  upon 
your  mind  that  you  cannot  render  a  fair  and  impar- 
tial verdict  in  this  case  on  the  sworn  testimony 
heard  by  you  in  this  court-room?" 

"I  would  rather  be  excused  from  serving,  your 
Honor,"  I  replied,  "and  I  stated  my  position  be- 
fore the  trial  began." 

"You  have  not  answered  my  question,  sir,"  he 
responded.  "Can  you  render  an  impartial  verdict 
on  the  sworn  testimony,  disregarding  all  matters 
which  have  reached  you  directly  or  indirectly  out- 
side the  court-room?" 

"Yes,  sir.     I  can." 

His  Honor  nodded  approvingly  as  I  spoke,  and 
turned  again  to  Barstow. 

"Have  you  any  motion  to  make,  sir?"  he  inquired. 

"No,  sir.  As  counsel  for  the  defendant,  I  shall 
take  no  part  in  this  unheard-of  proceeding.  It  is 
the  Court's  duty  to  discharge  the  jury  instantly. 
The  continuance  of  this  trial  is  a  useless  waste  of 
time." 

"The  jurors  will  disregard  the  remarks  of  counsel, 
and  take  their  instructions  upon  the  law  solely  from 
the  Court,"  directed  his  Honor,  sharply.  "Do 
you  wish  to  examine  the  foreman,  Mr.  Gilbert  ?  No  ? 
Very  well,  Mr.  Lambert,  resume  your  place  in  the 
jury-box." 

"I  object  to  the  juror's  further  service  on  the 
jury." 

"Objection  overruled." 

264 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"Exception." 

A  court  -  attendant  approached  the  Bench  and 
whispered  in  the  Judge's  ear  as  I  returned  to  my 
chair,  and  his  Honor  immediately  addressed  himself 
to  Barstow. 

"I  desire  to  inform  counsel  for  the  defence  that 
the  witness,  Madeleine  Mapes,  is  in  my  private  room," 
he  announced,  with  frigid  formality,  "and  he  may 
now  continue  his  cross-examination,  if  he  so  elects." 

Barstow  rose  and  advanced  to  the  rail  gazing 
fixedly  at  the  Bench. 

"In  view  of  what  has  just  taken  place,"  he  began, 
"I  consider  any  prolongation  of  this  trial  unnecessary 
and  inexpedient.  I  shall  not,  therefore,  conclude 
my  cross-examination  of  the  witness." 

The  Judge  flushed  angrily  as  the  lawyer  spoke,  but 
he  controlled  himself  with  an  effort  and  turned  to  the 
waiting  prosecutor.  "Proceed  with  your  case,  Mr. 
Gilbert,"  he  directed. 

"The  People  rest,"  announced  Gilbert,  promptly. 

For  an  instant  I  did  not  comprehend  the  words. 
Then  suddenly  their  meaning  flashed  upon  me.  The 
prosecutor  had  no  further  proofs  to  offer,  and  the 
defendant  was  at  liberty  to  show  us  her  defence. 


XXVIII 

THOUGH    Gilbert's  case  had  ended  sooner  than 
I  expected,  Barstow  was  evidently  prepared  for 
his   announcement,  for  he  sprang  to  his  feet  as  he 
heard  it  and  advanced  to  the  rail  with  a  memo- 
randum in  his  hand. 

"If  the  Court  please,"  he  began,  "I  request  your 
Honor  to  instruct  the  jury  to  render  a  verdict  of 
acquittal  in  this  case.  There  is  not  sufficient  evi- 
dence of  the  defendant's  guilt  to  raise  any  question 
for  the  jury.  No  verdict  except  'not  guilty'  could 
be  supported  by  the  facts  submitted  by  the  prose- 
cutor. The  circumstantial  proofs  wholly  fail  to  make 
out  the  case  required  by  law.  Indeed,  there  is  not 
a  word  of  testimony  connecting  the  defendant  with 
this  crime.  It  has  not  been  shown  that  she  was 
seen  in  or  about  Mr.  Shaw's  study  on  the  night  of 
the  crime.  On  the  contrary,  it  has  been  demon- 
strated that  she  was  in  a  different  and  remote  part 
of  the  building  at  the  time  he  met  his  death.  It  has 
not  been  proved  that  the  threads  of  cloth  left  in  the 
candle-grease  belong  to  any  dress  in  her  possession, 
and  their  identification  with  the  skirt  she  gave  the 
Mapes  woman  is  not  sufficient  to  create  any  pre- 
266 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

sumption  against  her.  But  if  it  had  been  demon- 
strated that  she  wore  a  skirt  matching  the  threads  on 
the  night  of  the  murder,  and  if  her  opportunity  to 
commit  the  crime  stood  undenied,  there  would  still 
be  an  entire  absence  of  proof  upon  the  all-important 
element  of  motive.  The  only  suggestion  of  motive 
anywhere  in  the  case  is  found  in  the  statement  of 
one  witness  to  the  effect  that  high  words  passed  be- 
tween Mr.  Shaw  and  this  defendant  on  the  night  of 
his  death.  The  idea  of  predicating  an  accusation  of 
murder — to  say  nothing  of  a  verdict  of  guilty — on 
such  testimony  is  monstrous.  Everybody  in  this 
room,  I  suppose,  has  had  high  words  at  one  time  or 
another  with  somebody.  We  have  come  to  a  pretty 
pass,  indeed,  if  high  words  necessarily  imply  murder- 
ous thoughts,  and  murderous  thoughts  necessarily 
imply  murderous  action!  We  were  told  in  the 
prosecutor's  opening  that  robbery  was  the  defend- 
ant's motive,  or,  at  least,  he  indicated  it  as  one  of 
her  many  motives.  According  to  my  learned  friend 
she  plotted  to  marry  Shaw  for  his  money,  and,  fail- 
ing in  this,  she  forged  a  will,  hoping  he  would  kill 
himself,  and  it  was  the  discovery  of  this  forgery  which 
caused  her  to  take  her  employer's  life.  We  have 
listened  to  hours  of  testimony  along  these  lines,  and 
at  the  end  of  them  all  what  do  we  find  ?  There  was 
no  robbery.  There  was  no  forgery.  Mr.  Shaw  had 
not  refused  to  marry  his  secretary — she  had  declined 
to  marry  him.  But  they  had  had  high  words.  That 
is  the  sum  and  substance  of  the  whole  matter.  It 
is  267 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

would  be  laughable  if  it  were  not  so  serious.  But  it 
needs  no  comment.  I  desire,  however,  to  call  at- 
tention to  the  fact  that  only  one  witness  testifies 
concerning  these  vague  high  words,  and  it  is  proper 
to  consider  who  and  what  that  witness  is.  When  the 
prosecutor  told  us  in  his  opening  that  we  would  find 
Alice  Emory  in  every  dark  corner  of  this  case,  I  as- 
sume he  must  have  meant  Madeleine  Mapes.  Listen 
at  the  door  of  Shaw's  study,  and  what  do  you  hear? 
A  quarrel  between  Shaw  and  Miss  Mapes — a  quarrel 
between  a  faithless  lover  and  a  discarded  woman. 
No  high  words,  but  plenty  of  bitter  hate  there.  Look 
through  the  window  of  Miss  Emory's  chamber  on  the 
night  of  the  murder,  and  whom  do  we  find  occupying 
the  room  so  conveniently  situated  next  to  Shaw's 
study?  Madeleine  Mapes.  Draw  aside  the  curtain 
of  her  closet  door,  and  what  do  you  find?  A  blue 
cloth  skirt  belonging  to  the  Mapes  woman!  Open 
the  furnace  door,  and  what  do  you  see  ?  The  charred 
remnants  of  her  telltale  skirt.  Will  you  credit  the 
word  of  this  female  Judas,  who  swears  eternal  friend- 
ship for  this  defendant  in  one  breath,  and  tries  to 
swear  her  into  eternity  with  another?  I  denounce 
her!  I  denounce  her  publicly,  and  in  the  name  of 
the  law.  I — " 

"Mr.  Barstow!" 

I  started  as  Miss  Emory  uttered  her  counsel's 
name,  and  turning  I  saw  her  standing  by  her  chair, 
her  face  flushed  with  anger, her  arms  extended  rigidly, 
and  her  hands  tightly  clinched.  Barstow  paused 

268 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

for  an  instant,  but  took  no  other  notice  of  the  inter- 
ruption, and  before  he  could  continue  Judge  Dudley 
interfered. 

"Counsellor,"  he  began,  "it  is  only  fair  to  say 
that  I  have  fully  determined  to  allow  the  jury  to 
pass  upon  this  case.  Please  state  your  motion  as 
briefly  as  possible,  and  I  will  deny  it,  and  give  you 
the  benefit  of  an  exception." 

Barstow  regarded  the  speaker  with  indignant  as- 
tonishment. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  decide  this  vital  question  without 
hearing  me?"  he  demanded,  fiercely. 

The  Judge  frowned  at  the  offensive  question,  and 
his  protruding  lip  twitched  suggestively,  but  he 
maintained  a  dignified  silence  until  he  controlled  his 
voice. 

"I  have  heard  you,  sir,"  he  responded,  at  last. 
"But  my  mind  is  made  up,  and  you  can't  change  it. 
This  case  has  got  to  go  to  the  jury,  and  you  may  as 
well  understand  it  one  time  as  another." 

"Your  Honor  takes  a  grave  responsibility,  and— 

The  old  jurist  interrupted  the  speaker  with  an 
impatient  gesture. 

"I  take  grave  responsibilities  every  day,  sir,"  he 
retorted,  "and  up  to  date  I  have  been  equal  to 
them.  Stenographer,  have  you  recorded  Mr.  Bar- 
stow's  motion,  and  the  grounds  upon  which  he  bases 
it?"  he  continued,  sharply.  "Yes?  Very  well  then. 
Motion  denied  and  exception  granted.  Now,  coun- 
sellor, I  will  allow  you  to  open  to  the  jury  to-night, 

269 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

if  you  desire,  but  I  propose  to  adjourn  court  as  soon 
as  you  have  finished  your  address." 
"    Barstow  threw  his  papers  upon    the    table   and 
pushed  back  his  chair. 

"You  may  adjourn  now,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned," 
he  muttered.  "I  shall  make  no  address  to  the 
jury." 

Judge  Dudley  looked  up  sharply  from  his  minute- 
book  as  he  heard  the  announcement,  and  nodded 
with  calm  dignity. 

"As  you  please,  sir,"  he  observed.  "Are  you 
prepared  to  begin  the  examination  of  your  wit- 
nesses?" 

"I  shall  call  no  witnesses." 

The  response  was  curt,  decisive,  and  challenging; 
and  an  audible  murmur  of  astonishment  swept  over 
the  room.  Judge  Dudley's  face  betrayed  no  surprise, 
however,  as  he  met  the  lawyer's  defiant  stare. 

"You  rest?"  he  inquired,  imperturbably. 

Before  Barstow  could  reply  the  defendant  sud- 
denly moved  forward  and  clutched  his  arm.  He 
turned  to  her  with  a  frown  of  impatience. 

"Please  take  your  seat,  Miss  Emory,"  he  mut- 
tered. "I  cannot  be  interrupted  now." 

"  You  must  be !" 

The  words  were  plainly  audible  to  the  jury,  and 
the  lawyer  reluctantly  yielded. 

"Your  Honor  will  grant  me  a  moment's  indul- 
gence?" he  inquired  over  his  shoulder  as  he  moved 
away. 

270 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

The  Judge  nodded,  and  every  eye  in  the  room 
centred  upon  the  lawyer  and  his  client,  as  they  be- 
gan a  whispered  consultation  which  grew  more  and 
more  animated  as  it  proceeded,  Miss  Emory  speaking 
rapidly  and  forcibly,  and  Barstow  replying  with 
equal  determination,  his  head  shaking  from  side  to 
side,  and  his  lips  scarcely  moving  as  he  uttered  his 
impatient  replies.  I  had  noticed  the  defendant's  eyes 
when  I  had  first  seen  her,  but  until  I  watched  them 
during  this  conference  I  had  no  idea  of  their  beauty. 
Indeed,  her  whole  appearance  was  transfigured  as 
she  faced  her  counsel,  her  eyes  flashing  with  deter- 
mination, and  her  expression  indicating  a  force  of 
character  with  which  I  had  not  previously  credited 
her.  Her  calmness  and  dignity  had  been  impressive 
throughout  the  trial,  but  her  sudden  animation  re- 
vealed a  strong  personality  of  intensely  human  in- 
terest. 

Barstow's  replies  came  at  longer  and  longer  inter- 
vals as  the  conference  continued,  and  at  last  he 
ceased  speaking  altogether,  and  sat  listening  to  his 
client,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  her  with  devouring  in- 
tensity. Then,  while  she  was  still  speaking,  he 
suddenly  pushed  back  his  chair  and  strode  to  the 
rail. 

"The  defendant  rests!"  he  announced,  with  ag- 
gressive firmness. 

Before  the  words  were  fairly  uttered,  Miss  Emory 
was  at  his  side. 

"Your  Honor,  I  desire  to  be  heard!"  she  exclaimed. 
271 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

Judge  Dudley  raised  his  eyebrows  and  regarded 
the  woman  with  disapproving  astonishment. 

"Your  counsel  is  present,  madam,"  he  remon- 
strated. "I  suggest  that  you  address  the  Court 
through  him." 

"Your  Honor,  I  desire  to  testify  in  my  own  be- 
half, and  my  counsel  will  not  permit  it." 

Miss  Emory  spoke  in  a  low  tone,  but  her  every 
word  was  plainly  audible  in  the  intense  silence. 

"Be  governed  by  his  advice,  madam." 

The  Judge  spoke  gravely,  soothingly,  but  the  de- 
fendant instantly  shook  her  head. 

"I  cannot,  your  Honor.  I  am  accused  of  an  in- 
famous crime,  and  my  dearest  friend  has  been  de- 
nounced by  my  own  lawyer.  Have  I  not  the  right 
to  answer?" 

"You  have  the  right,  madam.  But  I  would  ad- 
vise you  to  consider  the  matter  carefully  before  you 
act  counter  to  your  lawyer's  advice." 

"It  is  my  life  which  is  at  stake,  your  Honor,  and 
not  his,"  she  burst  out,  passionately.  "Surely  I 
cannot  be  denied  a  hearing  because  my  lawyer  ob- 
jects. But,  if  so,  let  me  change  my  counsel.  I  have 
waited  for  this  moment  for  months  and  months. 
May  I  not  defend  myself  by  telling  what  I  know?" 

The  woman's  voice  trembled  with  excitement,  but 
it  was  clear  and  fearless. 

Judge  Dudley  glanced  inquiringly  at  Barstow,  but 
the  lawyer  made  no  answer. 

"I  think  I  must  permit  the  defendant  to  take  the 
272 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

stand,  if  she  insists  upon  disregarding  your  advice, 
Mr.  Barstow." 

A  ripple  of  applause  greeted  the  Judge's  words, 
and  before  he  could  control  it  a  thunderous  burst  of 
approval  swept  over  the  court-room. 

Barstow  waited  for  the  tumult  to  subside,  his 
finger  pointing  steadily  at  the  stenographer's  open 
book. 

"The  case  is  closed,  your  Honor,"  he  asserted. 
"I  am  the  attorney  of  record  in  this  case,  and  the 
fact  that  the  defendant  has  rested  is  already  in  the 
minutes.  Further  testimony  cannot  be  received." 

Barstow  ignored  the  woman  standing  beside  him, 
and  gazed  steadily  at  the  Court  as  he  spoke  with  all 
his  customary  force  and  aggressiveness. 

"I  must  reopen  the  case,  Mr.  Barstow,"  announced 
the  Justice,  "unless  you  can  persuade  your  client  to 
think  better  of  her  action." 

"I  am  not  to  be  persuaded,  your  Honor,"  Miss 
Emory  interrupted,  hastily.  "I  demand  the  right 
to  be  heard." 

"Then  you  may  take  the  stand,  madam." 

Barstow  stepped  to  the  table  as  Judge  Dudley 
uttered  the  words,  and  took  up  his  coat  and  hat. 

"I  except  to  your  Honor's  ruling,"  he  observed, 
with  studied  calmness,  "and  with  that  my  duty  ends. 
Self-respect  demands  my  withdrawal,  and  I  leave 
the  case  in  your  hands — 

"Wait — wait,  Mr.  Barstow!" 

The  lawyer  was  already  on  his  way  from  the  court- 
273 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

room  as  Judge  Dudley  spoke,  but  he  halted  and 
turned  inquiringly  to  the  Bench. 

"I  cannot  allow  you  to  retire  at  this  stage  of  the 
case,  sir,"  continued  his  Honor.  "I  recognize  the 
delicacy  of  your  position  and  the  embarrassment  to 
which  you  are  subjected.  But  the  defendant  can- 
not be  left  unrepresented,  and  there  is  no  one  so 
competent  as  you  to  represent  her  at  this  crisis." 

"I  thank  your  Honor,  but  I  cannot  remain  in  a 
case  where  my  advice  is  disregarded,  and  with  due 
respect  to  the  Court  I  must  retire." 

Barstow  moved  to  the  door  as  he  spoke,  but  his 
Honor  instantly  halted  him. 

"You  must  do  nothing  of  the  kind,  sir.  No  mem- 
ber of  the  Bar  is  privileged  to  abandon  his  client  at 
will.  I  am  ready  to  grant  an  adjournment  to  enable 
you  to  mature  your  plans  or  to  consult  with  other 
counsel,  but  I  cannot  permit  you  to  leave  the  de- 
fendant to  her  own  devices  under  the  existing  cir- 
cumstances." 

Barstow  regarded  the  speaker  with  an  expression 
of  uncompromising  hostility. 

"I  submit  you  cannot  prevent  it,  sir,"  he  retorted, 
"and  I  respectfully  remind  the  Court  that  I  have 
been  at  the  Bar  quite  long  enough  to  know  my  rights 
and  my  duty." 

The  lawyer  turned  as  he  uttered  the  last  word  and 
again  started  for  the  door. 

"Mr.  Barstow,  I  should  regret  to  commit  you  for 
contempt  of  Court,  but  unless  you  instantly  return 

274 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

to  your  place,  sir,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  enforce  my 
authority." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  tone  of  the  Judge's 
voice,  but  Barstow  continued  calmly  on  his  way. 
Finally,  as  he  reached  the  last  row  of  benches,  his 
Honor  leaned  over  the  desk  and  pointed  his  gavel  at 
an  attendant. 

"Officer,"  he  roared,  "if  Mr.  Barstow  attempts  to 
pass  that  door  arrest  him  instantly!" 


XXIX 

BARSTOW  was  almost  at  the  door  when  the 
Judge's  order  rang  out,  and,  seeing  the  attend- 
ant spring  forward  to  dispute  his  further  progress, 
he  turned  and  walked  back  to  the  counsels'  table. 

"I  submit  to  the  Court's  authority,"  he  answered, 
"although  the  best  interest  of  a  defendant  can  never 
be  served  by  forcing  an  unwilling  counsel  upon  her. 
As  your  Honor  insists  upon  my  services,  however,  I 
suggest  the  propriety  of  an  adjournment." 

Before  the  Judge  could  answer,  Miss  Emory  darted 
to  the  rail. 

"Your  Honor,  I  beg  you  to  hear  me  to-night!" 
she  exclaimed.  "I  cannot  stand  this  suspense  any 
longer.  To-morrow — oh,  a  thousand  things  might 
happen  by  to-morrow!  It  is  only  fair  and  right  that 
I  should  be  heard  now.  I  implore  you  to  let  me  tell 
my  story  while  I  can!" 

The  woman's  voice  shook  with  emotion  as  she 
made  her  plea,  and  Judge  Dudley  was  visibly  em- 
barrassed by  the  unexpected  appeal. 

"You  are  not  the  best  judge  of  your  own  interests, 
madam,"  he  responded,  quietly.  "Your  proposed 
action  is  against  the  advice  T>f  your  lawyer,  and  you 

276 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

should   take   time   to  reconsider  the  matter  before 
committing  yourself  irrevocably." 

"I  have  considered  it.  I  cannot  bear  the  torture 
of  delay — I — " 

"You  are  excited  now,  madam.  When  you  are 
calmer  you  may  see  the  situation  in  a  different 
light." 

"I  am  perfectly  calm,  your  Honor,  but  I  dread 
waiting  for  another  day.  I  have  waited  so  long  al- 
ready." 

There  was  a  note  of  piteous  appeal  in  the  speaker's 
voice,  and  the  Judge  nodded  sympathetically. 

"I  am  inclined  to  let  the  defendant  take  the  stand, 
Mr.  Barstow,"  he  observed,  tentatively. 

The  words  seemed  to  renew  Barstow's  fighting 
spirit,  for  he  stepped  to  the  rail  with  all  his  custom- 
ary aggressiveness. 

"Your  Honor  cannot  do  so,"  he  asserted,  hotly. 
"I  now  demand  an  adjournment  as  a  matter  of 
right,  and  while  I  am  conducting  this  case  I  insist 
that  no  unnecessary  obstacles  be  placed  in  my 
way." 

His  words  and  manner  were  equally  offensive,  and 
Judge  Dudley's  face  instantly  darkened. 

"You  forget  yourself,  Mr.  Barstow!"  he  exclaimed. 
"The  Court  has  placed  no  obstacles  in  your  way,  but 
it  has  reached  the  limit  of  its  patience  with  your 
truculent  behavior." 

Barstow  received  the  reproof  with  an  insolent 
stare. 

277 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"I  may  have  forgotten  myself,"  he  muttered, 
slowly.  "But  I  have  not  forgotten  that  your 
Honor  promised  me  an  adjournment  if  I  continued 
in  the  case." 

The  Judge's  face  flushed  angrily  as  he  heard  the 
insinuating  reply. 

"The  Court  entered  into  no  such  bargain,  sir!"  he 
retorted.  "I  offered  you  an  adjournment,  and  you 
responded  by  attempting  to  leave  the  court-room 
contrary  to  my  instructions.  Now  I  deny  your  ap- 
plication. Take  the  stand,  madam,  if  you  please." 

"Exception!" 

Barstow  retreated  to  his  chair,  muttering  fiercely 
to  himself,  and,  crouching  down,  watched  the  Judge 
with  an  expression  of  vindictive  fury  until  the  de- 
fendant reached  the  witness  -  stand.  Then  his  ex- 
pression suddenly  changed,  and  pushing  his  chair 
forward  he  concentrated  his  gaze  on  his  client's  face, 
studying  her  as  he  had  studied  the  jury  during  the 
early  hours  of  the  trial. 

I  had  heard  the  oath  administered  to  many  wit- 
nesses before  Miss  Emory  took  the  stand,  but  until 
I  saw  her  with  her  hand  uplifted  listening  to  the 
Judge's  words,  I  had  never  been  impressed  with  the 
solemnity  and  dignity  of  the  simple  ceremony.  Even 
when  I  had  been  sworn  as  a  juror  I  had  merely  re- 
sponded to  the  dramatic  appeal  of  the  moment.  In 
itself  the  formula  prescribed  by  the  law  did  not  in- 
spire me  with  any  particular  feeling  of  reverence. 
But  Miss  Emory  received  it  in  a  different  spirit,  and 

278 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

when  she  touched  the  Bible  with  her  lips,  and  turned 
to  the  jury,  her  face  was  transfigured,  and  one  felt 
that  to  her  it  was  a  sacrament. 

"Miss  Emory,  I  warn  you,  before  you  make  any 
statement  in  this  case,  that  the  law  does  not  require 
you  to  testify  in  your  own  behalf." 

The  defendant  turned  quickly  to  the  Bench  as  she 
heard  the  words. 

"  I  understand  perfectly,  your  Honor,"  she  respond- 
ed. "Mr.  Barstow  has  informed  me  of  all  my  rights, 
and  I  regret  exceedingly  to  disregard  his  advice." 

"You  are  not  obliged  to  incriminate  yourself  in  any 
way,"  continued  the  Judge.  "The  fact  that  you  do 
not  personally  answer  the  charge  against  you  does 
not  create  any  presumption  of  your  guilt,  and  the 
jury  will  be  specifically  instructed  to  give  it  no  con- 
sideration whatsoever.  Moreover,  I  urge  you  to  be 
governed  by  the  advice  of  the  experienced  counsel 
who  represents  you,  and  to  abide  by  his  decision 
upon  the  policy  of  your  defence." 

The  grave  courtesy  of  the  words  increased  my  re- 
spect and  admiration  for  the  venerable  speaker.  His 
office  was  too  high  for  personal  resentment,  and  his 
impartial  bearing  under  grievous  provocation  em- 
bodied the  splendid  impersonality  of  the  law. 

Miss  Emory  seemed  to  realize  the  solemnity  and 
dignity  of  his  calm  admonition,  for  she  turned  to  him 
almost  apologetically. 

"I  appreciate  all  that  has  been  done  for  me,  your 
Honor,"  she  answered,  "but  I  feel  sure  I  am  right  in 

279 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

this.  I  would  have  been  content  to  make  no  denial 
for  myself.  But  my  dearest  friend  has  been  attacked 
— cruelly  attacked  to  divert  attention  from  me. 
Therefore  I  insist  upon  telling  the  whole  story.  She 
is  as  innocent  as  I." 

There  was  a  note  of  firm  defiance  in  the  speaker's 
voice,  and  I  began  to  understand  the  nature  of  Bar- 
stow's  quarrel  with  his  client. 

"Miss  Mapes  is  not  upon  trial,  madam,  and  re- 
quires no  defence  at  your  hands.  If  this  is  your  rea- 
son for  disregarding  your  lawyer's  advice — " 

"I  desire  to  be  heard  in  my  own  behalf  as  well, 
your  Honor.  I  understand  my  rights  in  every  par- 
ticular." 

"Very  well,  madam.  Do  you  wish  to  examine 
the  witness,  Mr.  Barstow?" 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head,  but  his  eyes  never  left 
his  client's  face. 

"Then  tell  your  own  story,  madam,  in  your  own 
way." 

"Your  Honor  will  question  me  if  I  do  not  make 
myself  clear?" 

"Certainly.  Face  the  jury,  madam.  They  can- 
not hear  you  if  you  look  at  me." 

Miss  Emory  turned  from  the  Bench,  and  her  glance 
rested  momentarily  on  Barstow's  heavy  face  before 
she  met  the  eyes  of  the  men  who  were  to  judge  her 
story.  For  an  instant  she  hesitated,  and  I  under- 
stood the  dread  feeling  of  oppression  with  which  she 
was  struggling.  The  twelve  men  confronting  her, 

280 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

the  stenographer,  the  lawyers— all  the  eagerly  star- 
ing and  listening  occupants  of  the  room  were  crowd- 
ing upon  her  with  suffocating  closeness,  and  the  very 
silence  of  the  place  was  stifling  her. 

"  I  first  met  Mr.  Shaw  two  years  —  a  little  more 
than  two  years  ago,"  she  began,  at  last,  speaking 
rapidly,  almost  breathlessly.  "  I  applied  to  him  at 
his  office  for  a  position  as  private  secretary  and  ob- 
tained it.  I — " 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  make  the  application, 
madam?  Did  you  answer  an  advertisement?" 

The  defendant  turned  to  the  Judge  with  a  grateful 
expression  as  he  interrupted,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  sir,"  she  answered.  "  I  was  recommended 
to  him  by  a  friend." 

"  Who  was  that  friend  ?" 

"Mr.  Barstow." 

All  eyes  immediately  centred  on  the  lawyer,  who 
continued  gazing  steadily  at  the  defendant  as  though 
unconscious  of  the  interest  he  inspired. 

"Proceed,  madam." 

"I  carried  a  letter  of  introduction  from  Mr.  Bar- 
stow,  whom  I  had  known  for  several  years,  and  Mr. 
Shaw  immediately  engaged  me.  At  first  I  worked 
only  at  his  office,  but  before  long  he  suggested  that 
I  take  up  my  residence  at  his  home  in  Pollicet,  as 
most  of  his  correspondence  could  be  conducted  there. 
I  consented  to  this  and  became  a  member  of  his  house- 
hold. For  a  time  everything  worked  satisfactorily, 
and  then  Mr.  Shaw  began  to  pay  me  more  attention 

281 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

than  I  cared  to  receive,  and  some  three  or  four  months 
after  I  came  to  Pollicet  he  asked  me  to  become  his 
wife." 

"When  was  this,  Miss  Emory?" 

"About  eighteen  months  ago — in  May,  I  think. 
The  May  before  he  died." 

"And  you  refused  his  offer?" 

"I  certainly  did,  and  I  should  have  left  his  em- 
ploy at  once  if  he  had  not  promised  on  his  word  of 
honor  to  drop  the  subject." 

"You  did  not  like  Mr.  Shaw?" 

"I  neither  liked  nor  disliked  him.  I  knew  nothing 
about  him  except  that  he  was  my  employer." 

"Did  he  repeat  his  offer  of  marriage?" 

"He  did,  before  a  month  had  passed,  and  this 
time  he  pressed  me  so  hard  for  the  reason  of  my  re- 
fusal that  I  told  him  frankly  I  was  not  free." 

"Meaning  you  were  already  engaged?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Were  you?" 

"I  was." 

"Will  you  tell  us  to  whom  you  were  betrothed?" 

"Yes,  sir.     I  was  and  am  engaged  to  Mr.  Barstow." 

An  audible  murmur  of  astonishment  came  from 
the  audience,  and  again  the  lawyer  became  the  centre 
of  interest,  but  his  face  betrayed  no  emotion  what- 
soever. 

"Did  Mr.  Shaw  know  of  this?" 

"He  never  asked  me  whom  I  was  engaged  to,"  an- 
swered the  witness,  "and  I  never  told  him.  In  fact, 

282 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

I  do  not  think  he  believed  me  at  all,  for,  although  he 
again  promised  to  drop  the  subject,  he  never  really 
did  so,  and  hardly  a  day  passed  without  some  direct 
or  indirect  reference  to  it,  until  the  situation  became 
so  intolerable  that  I  confided  in  Miss  Mapes.  She 
and  I  had  been  friends  from  the  moment  I  came  to 
the  farm,  and  we  have  been  like  sisters  ever  since.  In 
fact,  I  should  not  have  consented  to  become  a  mem- 
ber of  Mr.  Shaw's  household  had  I  not  known  she 
was  there,  and  I  would  not  have  remained  had  she 
left.  We  had  our  meals  together,  and  when  we  were 
not  working,  we  were  constantly  in  each  other's  com- 
pany. I  knew  she  was  aware  of  Mr.  Shaw's  marked 
attentipns  to  me,  but  she  never  spoke  of  them  until  I 
broached  the  subject.  Then  she  warned  me  against 
him,  and  told  me  something  of  her  experiences — 
most  of  which  she  has  repeated  here  to-day.  She 
was  sympathetic,  kindly — even  generous.  I  never 
heard  her  speak  a  bitter  word  against  Mr.  Shaw  in 
all  our  conversations.  We  became  even  more 
strongly  attached  to  each  other  after  this,  and  spent 
more  and  more  of  our  time  together.  Mr.  Shaw  was 
extremely  nervous  and  excitable  for  some  weeks  be- 
fore his  death,  and  I  knew  in  a  general  way  that  he 
was  in  some  difficulty  which  might  have  serious  con- 
sequences. But  just  what  he  had  done  or  why  he 
was  anxious  I  never  learned  until  after  his  death. 
During  this  time,  however,  he  left  me  alone,  and  I 
was  beginning  to  feel  more  at  ease  with  him,  when 
he  suddenly  renewed  his  attentions,  and  ended  by 
19  283 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

threatening  to  kill  himself  unless  I  consented  to  be- 
come his  wife." 

"When  was  this?" 

"The  afternoon  before  he  died." 

"Tell  us  everything  that  occurred." 

The  silence  of  the  court-room  was  broken  only 
by  the  ticking  of  the  clock  as  Miss  Emory  hesitated. 

"I  had  been  working  with  Mr.  Shaw  in  his  study," 
she  continued,  at  last,  "  and  had  found  him  more  than 
usually  nervous  all  the  afternoon,  but  he  gave  me  no 
warning  of  what  was  coming  until  he  suddenly  threw 
aside  his  papers  and  began  urging  me  to  marry  him, 
using  all  sorts  of  arguments  and  making  promises  of 
various  kinds.  I  steadily  refused  to  consider  the 
matter,  and  when  I  rose  to  leave  the  room  he  pulled 
a  paper  from  his  desk  and  insisted  on  my  reading  it. 
It  was  the  will  which  has  been  shown  here,  leaving  all 
his  property  to  his  wife  Alice.  Alice,  he  said,  referred 
to  me.  I  indignantly  protested  against  his  use  of  my 
name  in  such  a  connection,  and  he  replied  by  show- 
ing me  a  list  of  property  which  he  said  he  owned  in 
Venezuela,  and  which  he  declared  I  could  have  for 
the  asking,  if  I  would  be  his  wife.  I  told  him  I  was 
not  to  be  bribed,  and  that  I  would  leave  his  house 
the  very  next  day.  Then  he  drew  a  revolver  and 
told  me  that  I  would  not  have  to  wait  long  before  I 
became  a  widow,  but  that  I  must  become  his  wife. 
I  thought  he  had  lost  his  mind,  and  was  about  to 
flee  from  the  room  when  he  pointed  the  pistol  at  my 
head  and  told  me  not  to  move.  Then  he  suddenly 

284 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

laughed,  threw  the  weapon  aside,  and,  darting  for- 
ward, seized  me  in  his  arms  and  kissed  me.  I  struck 
him  across  the  mouth  and  managed  to  escape  to 
Miss  Mapes." 

The  defendant  had  told  her  story  in  short,  gasping 
sentences,  and  when  she  paused,  exhausted,  the  audi- 
ence which  had  hung  upon  her  every  word  stirred 
noisily,  exchanging  excited  whispers,  until  the  Judge 
rapped  sharply  on  his  desk. 

"Then  what  occurred?" 

Miss  Emory  paused  and  passed  her  hand  across  her 
forehead  as  she  heard  the  Judge's  prompting  ques- 
tion. 

"I  found  Miss  Mapes  in  her  room  and  told  her 
what  had  happened,"  she  continued.  "She  sym- 
pathized with  me,  and  offered  to  allow  me  to  occupy 
her  room  for  the  night,  as  I  was  nervpus  about  re- 
turning to  my  own,  and  I  gratefully  accepted  her  pro- 
posal. We  parted  about  eight  o'clock,  as  she  had 
some  household  duties  to  perform,  and  I  remained  in 
her  room  until  about  a  quarter-past  eight,  when  I 
went  to  the  library  for  a  book.  As  I  was  returning 
through  the  front  hall  I  saw  Mr.  Owen  Hunt  standing 
on  the  piazza,  and,  supposing  he  had  rung  the  bell,  I 
opened  the  door  for  him  and  let  him  in.  We  ex- 
changed greetings,  and,  knowing  that  he  had  an  ap- 
pointment with  Mr.  Shaw,  I  told  him  to  go  to  the 
study.  He  started  up  the  stairs,  and  I  returned  to  Miss 
Mapes' s  room,  went  to  bed  about  ten,  and  slept  sound- 
ly all  night.  Miss  Mapes  came  to  me  soon  after  I  was 

285 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

dressed  and  told  me  of  Mr.  Shaw's  death.  Of  course 
I  thought  he  had  committed  suicide,  and  it  was  not 
until  about  noon  that  I  heard  what  the  physicians 
had  discovered." 

"Who  told  you  of  that?" 

The  Judge  was  leaning  over  his  desk,  his  hand  be- 
hind his  ear  as  he  interrupted,  and  the  defendant 
turning  found  herself  face  to  face  with  her  ques- 
tioner. 

"Mr.  Barstow,"  she  answered,  calmly. 

The  Judge  nodded  comprehendingly. 

"I  remember,"  he  answered,  lightly.  "He  heard 
of  the  trouble  and  called  to  advise  you  not  to  talk  too 
much.  That  is  what  Miss  Mapes  said,  I  believe?" 

"Yes,  sir.     That  is  true." 

"Did  you  tell  him  what  had  occurred  the  previous 
evening?" 

"I  did." 

"Did  you  tell  him  about  having  let  Mr.  Hunt  into 
the  house?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Was  Miss  Mapes  present  at  this  conversation?" 

"Not  the  first  time  I  talked  with  Mr.  Barstow. 
Later  she  was." 

Gilbert  had  risen  when  the  Judge  had  begun  ques- 
tioning the  witness,  and  as  she  gave  her  last  answer 
his  Honor  nodded  to  the  prosecutor,  who  at  once  took 
up  the  examination,  plying  the  defendant  with  in- 
quiries, all  pointed  directly  at  Miss  Mapes,  and  dis- 
playing intense  interest  in  her  every  word  and  action. 

286 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

Miss  Emory  at  first  answered  the  questions  quietly, 
but  as  the  inquiry  continued  she  showed  impatience 
and  even  indignation,  and  when  the  prosecutor  in- 
troduced the  subject  of  the  blue  skirt  she  turned 
appealingly  to  the  Judge. 

"If  your  Honor  will  permit  me  to  tell  the  rest  of 
my  story  in  my  own  way,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  know 
I  can  save  time.  Miss  Mapes  had  nothing  to  do  with 
this  matter,  and  I  can  prove  it.  I  will  answer  any 
questions  afterwards." 

Gilbert  immediately  resumed  his  seat  with  a  sat- 
isfied expression. 

"I  accept  the  suggestion,  your  Honor,"  he  an- 
nounced, at  the  same  time  beckoning  to  a  messenger, 
who  received  a  whispered  communication  and  hurried 
from  the  room. 

"Proceed,  madam." 

Miss  Emory  glanced  at  the  Judge,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment I  thought  she  was  about  to  address  him,  but  she 
finally  turned  again  to  us. 

"Mr.  Barstow  told  me  at  our  first  interview,"  she 
began,  "  that  every  inmate  of  Mr.  Shaw's  house  would 
be  under  suspicion,  and  advised  me  to  say  nothing 
without  consulting  him.  Later,  when  he  learned  that 
Miss  Mapes  and  I  had  exchanged  rooms,  he  asked 
to  see  her,  and  explained  the  situation  to  us  both, 
telling  us  of  the  blue  threads  which  the  detectives 
had  discovered  in  the  candle-grease,  and  questioning 
us  about  our  gowns.  I  had  owned  a  blue  skirt,  but 
when  I  looked  for  it  after  our  talk  I  could  not  find  it, 

287 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

and  Miss  Mapes  finally  confessed  that  she  had  burned 
it  in  the  furnace  fearing  it  might  subject  me  to  sus- 
picion. Of  course  I  was  indignant,  but  I  knew  she 
had  intended  to  do  me  a  service,  and  when  I  saw  how 
frightened  she  was  I  tried  to  make  light  of  her  in- 
discretion. Mr.  Barstow,  however,  took  a  very  seri- 
ous view  of  the  matter  when  he  learned  that  Betty 
Field  had  come  into  the  cellar  just  as  Miss  Mapes  was 
thrusting  the  garment  into  the  furnace,  and  insisted 
that  she  should  not  speak  another  word  or  do  an- 
other thing  without  his  permission.  She  promised 
to  obey  him,  and  he  warned  me  not  to  tell  her  any- 
thing. When  the  authorities  began  to  suspect  me  I 
wanted  to  make  a  frank  statement  of  everything  I 
knew,  but  he  would  not  permit  it,  and  when  I  insisted 
he  told  me  that  I  would  do  him  a  great  wrong  if  I 
talked,  for  I  would  convict  his  friend  and  client  Owen 
Hunt." 

For  a  moment  I  did  not  realize  the  purport  of  her 
words,  and  I  do  not  think  any  one  in  the  audience 
fully  comprehended  them. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  Mr.  Barstow  confessed  to 
you  that  Owen  Hunt  killed  Mr.  Shaw?" 

The  Judge  leaned  excitedly  over  his  desk,  and  his 
tone  expressed  astonishment  and  incredulity. 

"He  did,  and  he  begged  me  not  to  betray  a  man 
who  had  once  saved  his  life,"  Miss  Emory  answered, 
steadily.  "He  told  me  Hunt  was  innocent — that 
Mr.  Shaw  had  attacked  him  in  a  burst  of  rage,  and 
that  Hunt  had  stabbed  him  in  self-defence.  If  the 

288 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

man  had  only  made  a  clean  breast  of  the  matter,  he 
explained,  instead  of  trying  to  conceal  the^  facts,  he 
could  easily  have  been  acquitted.  But  as  things 
were,  nothing  could  save  him  if  I  confessed  that  he 
was  in  the  house.  Even  after  he  saw  I  might  be  in- 
dicted, Mr.  Barstow  begged  me  not  to  speak,  and  I 
agreed  to  keep  silence.  I  knew  Mr.  Hunt  was  a  brave 
man  to  whom  Mr.  Barstow  was  under  deep  obliga- 
tions and  who  had  once  saved  his  life,  and  I  felt  per- 
fectly safe  in  Mr.  Barstow's  hands.  He  attacked 
Miss  Mapes  because  he  found  the  testimony  against 
me  was  stronger  than  he  liked,  and  when  he  persisted 
in  protecting  me  in  this  manner  I  repudiated  my 
promise  of  silence." 

Miss  Emory  paused  and  leaned  back  wearily  in  her 
chair. 

"That  is  all  I  have  to  tell,"  she  concluded. 
The  pent-up  excitement  of  the  audience  found 
vent  in  a  wild  burst  of  applause  —  a  spontaneous 
tribute  which  the  Judge  did  not  try  to  repress — and 
as  I  watched  the  exciting  scene  I  saw  Gilbert  standing 
near  the  door  earnestly  whispering  to  Barbara  Frayne 
and  her  father.  Before  I  recovered  from  my  surprise, 
however,  the  prosecutor  wrote  a  few  words  on  a  slip 
of  paper,  shoved  it  into  the  girl's  hand,  and,  hurrying 
her  and  the  Colonel  from  the  court,  slipped  quietly 
back  to  his  place  again. 

Finally  the  Judge  hammered  the  audience  to  order 
and  addressed  Barstow,  who  still  sat  watching  the 
defendant. 

289 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Do  you  wish  to  cross-examine,  Mr.  Barstow?" 
he  inquired. 

"No,  sir.  My  own  statement  will  be  forthcoming 
at  another  time  and  place.  I  move  that  the  jury  be 
instructed  to  acquit." 

The  lawyer  did  not  look  up,  and  his  lips  scarcely 
moved  as  he  muttered  the  response. 

"I  will  reserve  decision  on  your  motion  until  the 
prosecutor  finishes  his  examination,"  his  Honor  an- 
swered. "Have  you  any  further  questions,  Mr. 
Gilbert?" 

The  prosecutor  was  already  on  his  feet  as  Judge 
Dudley  spoke. 

"Miss  Emory,"  he  began,  "did  any  one  except  you 
know  of  Hunt's  presence  in  the  farm-house  on  the 
night  Mr.  Shaw  was  killed?" 

"No  one,  I  think." 

The  witness  answered  mechanically,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  Barstow. 

"Not  even  Miss  Mapes?" 

"No." 

Gilbert  moved  outside  the  rail  and  took  up  his 
position  on  the  far  side  of  the  jury-box. 

"Turn  to  me,  Miss  Emory,"  he  commanded. 
"That's  better.  Farther  still,  please.  Twist  your 
chair  until  you  face  the  twelfth  juror.  Good!  Now 
tell  me  how  you  happened  to  know  that  Hunt  had 
an  appointment  with  Mr.  Shaw  on  the  evening  you 
let  him  into  the  house." 

"Because  Mr.  Shaw  told  me  so." 
290 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"He  said  he  had  an  appointment  with  Mr.  Hunt?" 

"No,  I  think  he  said  Mr.  Barstow.  But  they 
always  came  together." 

"Who?     Hunt  and  Barstow?" 

"Yes." 

"They  were  frequent  visitors  at  the  house?" 

"No.  Almost  all  their  business  with  him  was 
done  elsewhere." 

"What  was  their  business  with  him?" 

"Law  business.  Mr.  Barstow  was  Mr.  Shaw's 
counsel." 

"Another  gentleman  has  been  mentioned  here  as 
Mr.  Shaw's  lawyer.  The  one  who  drew  the  will." 

"Very  likely.  I  don't  remember.  What  differ- 
ence does  it  make?  Mr.  Barstow  was  one  of  his  at- 
torneys." 

The  answer  was  impatient,  but  Gilbert  nodded  sym- 
pathetically at  the  witness. 

"I  see,"  he  answered,  soothingly.  "When  you 
opened  the  door  for  Mr.  Hunt,  did  you  have  any  con- 
versation with  him?" 

"No — we  merely  exchanged  greetings,  and  I  di- 
rected him  up -stairs."  , 

"Didn't  you  ask  him  where  Mr.  Barstow  was?" 

"No." 

"  Didn't  you  expect  to  see  Mr.  Barstow  with  him  ?" 

"I  think  I  did." 

"But  you  asked  no  questions?" 

"I  supposed  he  would  come  later." 

"But  he  did  not?" 

291 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"No.     He  had  been  detained  in  town." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Because  he  told  me  so.  He  blamed  himself  for 
the  tragedy,  which  would  never  have  happened  if  he 
had  not  allowed  Hunt  to  go  alone." 

"I  see.  Did  you  have  any  conversation  with  Mr. 
Barstow  about  Shaw's  attitude  towards  you?" 

"I  told  him  when  Mr.  Shaw  first  proposed  to  me." 

"  But  not  about  his  subsequent  offers  of  marriage  ?" 

"  I  told  him  something  about  them,  but  not  every- 
thing until  after  Mr.  Shaw's  death." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it  distressed  him." 

"How  did  he  show  his  distress?" 

"He  became  very  angry." 

"Didn't  he  insist  upon  your  resigning  your  posi- 
tion?" 

"Yes;  but  when  I  heard  what  an  important  client 
Mr.  Shaw  was,  and  saw  that  my  leaving  would  lead 
to  a  quarrel,  I  decided  to  remain." 

The  examiner  paused  for  a  moment  before  he  put 
his  next  question. 

"Miss  Emory,  did  you  see  Hunt  leave  the  house 
on  the  night  of  November  2d?"  he  inquired,  at  last. 

The  witness  shook  her  head. 

"I  told  you  I  did  not,"  she  responded. 

"Are  you  perfectly  sure  that  the  person  you  let 
into  the  house  that  night  was  Owen  Hunt?" 

"Why,  of  course!"  she  exclaimed,  impatiently. 
"Who  else  could  it  be?" 

292 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"I  don't  know.  But  your  story  is  a  serious  ac- 
cusation, and  I  want  you  to  consider  the  possibility 
of  a  mistake." 

Gilbert  paused  and  turned  to  Corning,  who  had 
entered  the  room  and  was  eagerly  waiting  to  deliver 
a  message.  A  brief  whispered  consultation  followed, 
and  then  the  assistant  again  hurriedly  left  the  court 
as  the  prosecutor  resumed  his  questioning. 

"Did  you  understand  from  Barstow  that  Hunt 
was  alone  with  Shaw  when  this — tragedy  occurred?" 
he  continued. 

Miss  Emory  nodded. 

"I  did,"  she  assented. 

"  Have  you  any  other  information  on  the  subject  ?" 

The  witness  shot  a  frightened  glance  at  her  in- 
quisitor. 

"No,"  she  answered.     "Why — 

"  It  is  possible,  is  it  not,"  Gilbert  interrupted,  "  that 
Mr.  Shaw  might  have  had  other  visitors  without  your 
knowledge  ?" 

"Yes— but— " 

The  color  had  left  Miss  Emory's  face  and  her  voice 
broke  nervously. 

"  Did  you  ever  tell  Hunt  that  you  knew  he  was  the 
guilty  man?"  pursued  the  examiner. 

".No." 

"Did  you  have  any  conversation  with  him  con- 
cerning his  share  in  the  crime?" 

"No." 

The  answers  came  in  choking  gasps,  and  seeing  the 
293 


THE  ACCOMPLICE 

witness  glancing  wildly  about  her  one  of  the  attend- 
ants hurried  forward  with  a  glass  of  water,  but  the 
woman  pushed  it  away  and  stared  at  the  prosecutor 
with  a  look  of  dawning  terror. 

"Was  the  gas  lit  in  the  hall  when  you  opened  the 
door  for  Hunt,  Miss  Emory?" 

The  tone  of  the  question  was  reassuring,  but  the 
witness's  voice  sank  to  a  whisper  as  she  assented. 

"So  that  you  could  plainly  see  the  person  you  ad- 
mitted ?" 

"Yes." 

"Describe  him,  please." 

"He  was  a  tall,  clean-shaven  man  with  dark  hair 
and  eyes.  His  face  was  thin,  and  his  nose  rather 
sharply  pointed.  Oh,  what  is  the  use  of  going  into  all 
this!"  she  burst  out,  hysterically.  "Bring  Hunt 
here.  I  will  identify  him!" 

"Yes — yes — of  course,"  answered  Gilbert,  sooth- 
ingly; "but  so  there  can  be  no  error,  Miss  Emory,  tell 
us  how  he  was  dressed  when  you  saw  him  in  the  hall 
that  night." 

"He  wore  an  alpine  hat,  a  black  overcoat,  gray 
trousers,  and — " 

Gilbert  glanced  across  the  court-room,  and  nodded 
as  he  saw  Abel  Corning  re-entering  the  door. 

"Gray  trousers?"  he  repeated,  meaningly.  "That 
is  all,  Miss  Emory.  Thank  you." 

The  end  came  so  suddenly  that  the  Judge  himself 
was  startled. 

"Any  further  questions,  Mr.  Barstow  ?"  he  inquired. 
294 


THE  ACCOMPLICE 

The  defendant's  counsel  mopped  his  face  with  his 
handkerchief  and  muttered  "No." 

"Then,  as  I  understand  it,  both  sides  rest?"  con- 
tinued the  Justice. 

"Pardon  me,  your  Honor,"  interrupted  Gilbert. 
"I  desire  to  call  a  witness  in  rebuttal." 

"In  rebuttal?  You  mean  to  contradict  the  last 
witness?" 

For  the  only  time  during  the  trial  the  Judge's  voice 
reflected  something  of  the  excitement  of  the  audience. 

"Yes,  sir.     I  mean  to  contradict  her." 

Gilbert's  answer  was  steady,  confident,  and  de- 
cisive, and  the  Judge  nodded  acquiescently. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  he  responded,  "call  your  wit- 
ness." 

"Owen  Hunt!"  announced  the  prosecutor,  calmly. 


XXX 

THE  audience  turned  expectantly  to  the  court- 
room door  as  Gilbert  spoke,  and  a  deathlike 
silence  followed,  the  jurors  glancing  at  one  .another 
in  utter  bewilderment,  and  the  Judge  himself  staring 
with  strained  intensity  at  the  calm,  resolute  face  of 
the  public  prosecutor.  I  no  longer  cherished  any 
prejudice  against  Deake  Gilbert,  and  my  early  im- 
pressions of  the  man  had  completely  faded.  Indeed, 
in  the  whirl  of  events  and  the  confusion  of  the  moment 
— not  knowing  what  to  think  or  expect — I  was  con- 
scious of  a  firm  reliance  in  his  judgment,  of  a  su- 
preme confidence  in  his  ability  to  handle  the  situation 
and  extricate  us  all  from  the  maze  of  contradictions 
and  surprises  in  which  we  were  involved. 

Suddenly  Barstow  staggered  to  his  feet  and  broke 
the  silence  with  a  burst  of  violent  protest  against 
continuing  the  trial.  It  was  preposterous,  he  as- 
serted, to  begin  rebutting  testimony  at  such  an  hour. 
There  was  no  necessity  for  crowding  the  work  of  two 
days  into  one  night.  The  situation  demanded  an 
instant  adjournment.  It  was  inhuman  to  prolong 
the  case  beyond  the  endurance  of  jurors  and  counsel, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  accused.  He  himself  had  not 

296 


THE  ACCOMPLICE 

the  physical  strength  to  continue,  and  a  postpone- 
ment was  imperative. 

The  lawyer  swayed  unsteadily,  clutching  wildly  at 
the  rail  as  he  spoke,  but  when  the  prosecutor  rose 
to  reply  he  turned  upon  him  with  a  torrent  of  in- 
vective, denouncing  his  professional  conduct  and  im- 
pugning his  motives  with  such  thunderous  vehe- 
mence that  the  Judge  was  powerless  to  make  himself 
heard.  Finally  he  ordered  a  court  -  attendant  to 
force  the  excited  speaker  to  his  seat,  but  the  instant 
the  official  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder  Barstow 
flung  him  one  side  with  a  wave  of  his  arm  and  con- 
tinued his  impassioned  denunciation.  Then  he  sud- 
denly paused,  and,  sinking  into  his  chair,  glared  at  his 
opponent  with  all  the  desperate  ferocity  of  a  mad- 
man. 

As  soon  as  the  commotion  among  the  spectators 
subsided  Gilbert  rose  and  addressed  the  Court  with 
quiet  and  impressive  dignity.  It  was  apparent,  he 
observed,  that  his  opponent  was  suffering  from  a 
nervous  strain  of  unusual  severity,  and  if  his  official 
duty  would  permit  him  to  do  so  he  would  gladly 
consent  to  the  requested  adjournment.  But  the 
ends  of  justice,  he  asserted,  were  paramount  to  the 
comfort  or  convenience  of  any  individual,  and  the 
highest  public  interest  demanded  the  immediate  ex- 
amination of  Owen  Hunt,  not  only  because  he  had 
been  publicly  accused  of  a  crime,  but  also  because 
there  was  grave  danger  that  another  day  might  find 
him  physically  incapable  of  testifying  to  any  facts  in 

2Q7 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

the  case.  For  this  solemn  reason  he  felt  bound  to 
urge  the  Court  to  hear  the  witness  before  it  was  too 
late. 

Gilbert's  eyes  never  left  the  Judge's  face  as  he 
spoke,  and  when  he  paused  it  was  apparent  that  his 
earnest  words  had  made  a  deep  impression.  Even 
to  my  mind  they  conveyed  a  suggestion  of  some- 
thing left  unsaid — of  some  underlying  purpose  which 
must  not  be  balked  or  halted. 

Before  his  Honor  could  respond,  however,  Barstow 
was  again  on  his  feet,  vehemently  contending  that 
Hunt  could  not  be  called  as  a  witness  without  proper 
notice  to  the  defence — that  the  list  of  witnesses  which 
the  prosecutor  had  furnished,  according  to  law,  did 
not  include  his  name — that  the  defence  could  not 
legally  be  subjected  to  surprises  of  this  sort — that 
neither  Hunt  nor  any  other  witness  could  be  com- 
pelled to  testify  against  himself,  and  Gilbert's  avowed 
purpose  to  take  advantage  of  a  sick  man  accused  of  a 
crime  dishonored  him  as  an  official  and  discredited 
him  as  a  member  of  the  Bar. 

"  This  man  has  already  done  his  worst,"  he  shouted, 
"to  make  this  trial  a  travesty  on  justice  and  a  mock- 
ery of  law!  Will  the  Court  encourage  him  to  out- 
rage—' 

A  disturbance  in  the  back  of  the  room  interrupted 
the  speaker,  and  as  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder 
two  men  entered  the  door  supporting  a  third,  whom 
I  instantly  recognized  as  Owen  Hunt,  despite  the 
bandages  which  almost  concealed  his  face,  and  be- 

298 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

fore  Barstow  could  resume  his  argument  the  Judge 
curtly  interposed. 

"I  shall  hear  this  witness,  Mr.  Barstow,"  he  an- 
nounced. "Take  an  exception  and  preserve  what- 
ever rights  you  think  infringed.  Mr.  Gilbert,"  he 
continued,  "is  your  witness  mentally  and  physically 
equal  to  the  examination  you  propose?" 

The  prosecutor  whispered  to  his  assistant  and 
glanced  up  quickly. 

"He  is  equal  to  all  demands  which  will  be  made 
upon  him,  your  Honor,"  he  answered,  firmly. 

"Then  let  him  take  the  stand,"  directed  the  Jus- 
tice. "You  can  raise  your  right  hand,  sir?"  he  con- 
tinued, addressing  the  witness  as  the  attendants  as- 
sisted him  into  the  chair.  "Never  mind,  sir.  We'll 
dispense  with  that.  Do  you  solemnly  swear  that 
the  answers  you  shall  make  to  such  questions  as  may 
be  put  to  you  in  this  action  between  the  People  and 
Alice  Emory  shall  be  the  truth,  the  whole  truth, 
and  nothing  but  the  truth,  so  help  you  God?" 

Hunt  touched  the  Bible  with  his  lips,  but  his  eyes 
never  left  Barstow's  face  as  the  Judge  addressed 
him. 

"Mr.  Hunt,  are  you  aware  that  you  do  not  have  to 
answer  any  questions  which  may  tend  to  incriminate 
or  degrade  you,  and  that  you  cannot  be  compelled 
to  testify  against  yourself  in  any  way?" 

The  witness  glanced  up  and  nodded. 

"I  understand,"  he  answered. 

"Are  you  likewise  aware,"  continued  his  Honor, 
ao  299 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"that  you  have  been  accused  in  open  court  of  the 
crime  of  murder — the  murder  of  Gregory  Shaw?" 

"That  is  what  I  am  here  to  answer." 

The  defiant  response  brought  Barstow  to  his  feet. 

"I  advise  the  witness  to  remain  silent!"  he  thun- 
dered. "  I  advise  him  that  anything  he  may  say  will 
be  used  against  him.  No  promise  of  immunity  will 
be  binding  or  effective,  and  I  warn  him — " 

"  I'll  take  my  chances,"  Hunt  interrupted,  im- 
patiently. "  What  do  you  want  to  know,  Mr.  Gil- 
bert?" 

"I  want  you  to  tell  the  jury  everything  you  know 
concerning  the  death  of  Mr.  Gregory  Shaw." 

Barstow,  who  had  turned  away  with  a  shrug  of  his 
shoulders,  instantly  wheeled  about,  his  face  white 
with  rage. 

"That  is  no  way  to  conduct  an  examination,  and 
you  know  it!"  he  shouted,  fiercely.  "Your  Honor, 
this  is  a  flagrant  attempt  to  prevent  me  from  ex- 
cluding improper  testimony.  It  is — " 

"The  prosecutor  will  question  the  witness  in  the 
usual  manner,"  Judge  Dudley  interrupted,  but  Bar- 
stow  was  not  satisfied,  for  he  immediately  inter- 
posed new  objections  too  technical  for  me  to  under- 
stand, and  no  sooner  carried  one  point  than  he  pre- 
sented another,  contesting  every  inch  of  ground,  and 
fighting  against  time  with  wonderful  persistence  and 
resource.  But  ingenious  as  his  tactics  were  Judge 
Dudley  met  them  with  prompt  concessions,  yielding 
every  demand  until  the  obstructionist  desisted  from 

300 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

sheer  exhaustion,  and  the  examination  at  last  pro- 
ceeded. 

"Mr.  Hunt,  what  is  your  business  or  profession?" 
began  the  prosecutor. 

The  witness  paused  for  a  moment  and  gazed  vin- 
dictively at  Barstow. 

"  I  am  a  clerk — a  private  secretary — a  go-between 
— a  cat's-paw — a  scape -goat!  Well,  something  of 
that  sort,"  he  added,  bitterly. 

"In  whose  employ  are  you?" 

"Until  to-day  I  was  in  Ferris  Barstow's." 

"You  mean  Mr.  Barstow — the  counsel  for  the  de- 
fence?" 

Hunt  nodded  affirmatively. 

"How  long  have  you  been  in  his  employ,  Mr. 
Hunt?" 

"About  six  years." 

"Did  you  know  the  late  Gregory  Shaw?" 

"I  knew  him  well." 

"Who  introduced  you?" 

"His  lawyer,  Mr.  Barstow." 

"Were  you  in  Mr.  Barstow's  employ  when  he  first 
had  business  with  Gregory  Shaw?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  know  what  that  business  was?" 

The  witness  started  to  reply,  but  Barstow  instantly 
smothered  the  answer  with  a  flood  of  objections 
which  had  to  be  diverted  and  bridged  in  a  dozen 
different  ways  before  the  story  proceeded. 

Barstow  had  chanced  upon  a  clew  to  Gregory 
301 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

Shaw's  defalcations,  Hunt  at  last  responded,  and 
had  followed  it  up  so  closely  that  Shaw  had  to  retain 
him  to  avoid  exposure. 

"Do  you  mean  to  charge  that  Mr.  Barstow  black- 
mailed Mr.  Shaw  into  retaining  him  as  his  counsel?" 
demanded  Gilbert. 

Hunt  met  the  question  with  an  expression  of  low 
cunning  and  a  shake  of  the  head 

"I  guess  the  other  side  would  have  paid  him  as 
much  to  talk  as  Shaw  paid  him  to  keep  quiet,"  he 
answered.  "He  gave  his  client  good  value  for  his 
money,  and  kept  him  going  longer  than  any  other 
lawyer  could  have  done." 

"Was  Mr.  Barstow  known  as  Shaw's  attorney?" 

The  witness  smiled  grimly  as  Gilbert  put  the  ques- 
tion. 

"Of  course  not,"  he  answered.  "It  was  an  abso- 
lute secret." 

"Why?" 

"Because  Barstow  was  in  close  touch  with  the 
people  Shaw  was  fleecing,  and  if  it  had  been  known 
that  he  was  Shaw's  adviser  some  one  might  have 
become  suspicious." 

"Were  you  the  only  person  who  knew  of  their  re- 
lations?" 

"No." 

"Who  else  knew  them?" 

"His  secretary." 

"Miss  Alice  Emory?" 

"Yes." 

302 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

The  witness  glanced  at  the  defendant,  but  his  eyes 
instantly  reverted  to  the  prosecutor. 

"Was  she  aware  of  the  sort  of  business  which  was 
transacted  between  Shaw  and  Barstow?" 

"I  don't  know.     You  can  ask  her." 

"Did  you  call  at  Mr.  Shaw's  house  in  Pollicet  on 
the  evening  of  November  2d?" 

"I  did." 

"At  Mr.  Shaw's  invitation?" 

"  I  suppose  so.  We  had  an  appointment  with 
him." 

"Whom  do  you  mean  by  we?" 

"Mr.  Barstow  and  I." 

"And  you  kept  the  appointment?" 

"We  both  kept  it." 

Miss  Emory  sprang  to  her  feet  as  Hunt  responded, 
her  face  pale  with  terror,  but  she  sank  back  in  her 
chair  at  a  glance  from  Barstow. 

"Did  Mr.  Barstow  accompany  you?"  continued 
Gilbert. 

"No.     I  arrived  first.     Barstow  came  later." 

"Who  answered  the  door  when  you  arrived?" 

"Miss  Emory." 

"Do  you  know  who  let  Mr.  Barstow  into  the 
house?" 

"Yes.  I  did.  I  saw  him  coming  in  at  the  gate 
frorn  the  hall  window,  and  went  down-stairs  and 
opened  the  door  for  him  myself." 

The  prosecutor  whispered  to  his  assistant,  and  then 
faced  the  witness  with  a  masterful  expression. 

303 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

"Mr.  Hunt,  what  business  brought  you  and  Mr. 
Barstow  to  the  Shaw  farm  that  night?"  he  demand- 
ed. 

"To  get  Shaw  to  sign  some  papers,"  Hunt  re- 
sponded. 

"What  papers?" 

"May  I  explain  something  first?" 

Gilbert  nodded. 

"Well,  you  see,  people  were  beginning  to  get  on 
Shaw's  trail,"  the  witness  continued,  "and  the  pros- 
pects were  that  he  would  be  exposed  before  long. 
Barstow  and  Shaw  both  knew  this,  and  they  had 
been  preparing  for  it.  Shaw  had  sold  out  all  his 
property  and  turned  it  into  quick-selling  securities, 
and  under  Barstow's  directions  I  had  made  all  ar- 
rangements for  the  deposit  of  those  securities  with  a 
South  American  bank.  To  perfect  the  scheme  it 
was  necessary  to  have  certain  papers  signed,  and 
Shaw  was  to  execute  them  that  night  in  our  pres- 
ence." 

"You  had  the  papers  with  you?" 

"No,  Barstow  brought  them.  I  was  to  act  as 
witness." 

"Very  well.  Describe  what  occurred  after  Mr. 
Barstow  arrived." 

In  the  breathless  silence  which  followed  Gilbert's 
demand,  Miss  Emory  rose  and  drew  her  chair  close 
beside  her  counsel. 

"We  went  into  Mr.  Shaw's  study  and  found  him 
writing  at  his  desk,"  began  the  witness.  "He  was 

304 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

excited,  and  when  the  papers  were  produced  and  he 
discovered  that  they  were  made  out  in  Barstow's 
name  he  refused  to  sign  them  saying  they  would  put 
him  completely  in  Barstow's  power.  This  led  to 
angry  talk,  but  the  upshot  of  it  all  was  that  Shaw 
would  not  yield,  and  Barstow  finally  asked  him  how 
he  proposed  to  do  the  business.  Then  Shaw  drew  a 
paper  from  his  desk  showing  a  transfer  of  all  the  prop- 
erty to  Alice  Emory,  and  the  moment  Barstow  read 
this  he  threw  it  on  the  table,  saying  he  would  not 
permit  the  use  of  Miss  Emory's  name." 

The  witness  paused,  groping  at  the  counsels'  table 
with  out-stretched  hand,  and  one  of  the  attendants 
interpreting  the  gesture  hastened  forward  with  a 
glass  of  water.  Hunt  moistened  his  lips  and  sank 
back  in  his  chair  with  a  gasp. 

"Did  you  hear  Shaw's  reply  to  Barstow's  declara- 
tion?" prompted  Gilbert,  after  a  pause. 

The  witness  nodded  slowly. 

"He  demanded  Barstow's  authority  for  saying 
what  Miss  Emory  should  do  or  leave  undone,"  he 
responded,  "  and  Barstow  declined  to  give  it.  That 
was  the  beginning  of  the  trouble,  but  they  soon  got 
to  talking  so  fast  I  couldn't  distinguish  what  they 
said  until  Shaw  shouted  out  that  he'd  talk  about  his 
wife  in  any  way  he  pleased,  and  thrust  another  paper 
under  Barstow's  nose." 

"Did  you  see  what  that  paper  was?"  interposed 
the  Judge. 

"  It  was  a  copy  of  the  will  made  out  in  favor  of  his 

305 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

wife  Alice,"  Hunt  responded,  "and  the  moment  Bar- 
stow  saw  it  he  flung  it  on  the  floor.  '  You  impudent 
rascal!'  he  hissed.  'You're  not  married  to  Alice 
Emory,  and  you  know  it!'  Shaw  laughed  in  his  face. 
'I'm  as  good  as  married  to  her,  and  what's  good 
enough  for  her  and  me  ought  to  do  for  you,'  he  leered, 
and  before  I  realized  what  was  happening  Barstow 
had  him  on  the  floor  and  it  was  all  over." 

The  speaker's  voice  sank  to  a  whisper,  and  in  the 
awful  silence  which  followed  I  glanced  at  Alice  Em- 
ory. From  the  moment  Gilbert  had  called  the  wit- 
ness to  the  stand  her  expression  had  indicated  horror, 
and  as  Hunt  uttered  the  last  words  she  suddenly 
threw  her  arm  around  Barstow's  shoulder  sobbing 
convulsively. 

I  fairly  gasped  as  I  watched  the  scene.  If  Hunt's 
story  were  true  Ferris  Barstow  was  not  only  a  mur- 
derer, but  a  cowardly  cur  who  had  attempted  to 
screen  himself  behind  a  woman  at  the  peril  of  her 
life,  and  yet  the  victim  apparently  forgave  him,  and 
reproached  herself  for  having  betrayed  him!  Black- 
guard as  he  was  the  defendant's  action  seemed  to  lift 
the  man  out  of  himself,  and  as  he  gazed  silently  into 
his  client's  face  I  saw  a  look  in  his  eyes  which  would 
have  honored  a  better  man,  and  from  that  instant 
his  entire  demeanor  changed. 

"Did  you  not  know  what  had  happened,  Mr. 
Hunt?"  Gilbert  demanded,  after  a  pause. 

"Not  until  Barstow  got  up,"  the  witness  answered, 
"and  then  I  saw  he  had  a  miniature  foil  in  his  hand 

306 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

which  Shaw  used  as  a  paper-cutter.  I  had  seen  it 
lying  on  the  table  just  a  moment  before." 

The  witness  paused  again,  took  a  sip  of  water,  and 
waited  for  a  prompting  question. 

"Did  the  sight  of  that  weapon  tell  you  what  had 
occurred?"  queried  Gilbert. 

Hunt  shook  his  head. 

"I  never  dreamed  of  it  until  Barstow  gripped  my 
arm  and  whispered  that  the  man  was  dead,"  he  an- 
swered, "and  even  then  I  couldn't  believe  it,  for  I 
dropped  down  beside  the  body  and  tried  to  restore  it 
to  life.  Barstow  helped  me  for  a  time,  but  he  must 
have  known  it  was  useless,  for  as  I  worked  he  locked 
the  door  and  outlined  his  plan  to  make  it  a  case 
of  suicide.  I  did  whatever  he  ordered.  He  hypno- 
tized me  once,  and  since  then  I've  never  been  able 
to  oppose  him.  He  owned  me  until — until  I  got  this 
jolt  on  my  head  yesterday.  Maybe  that  cured  me." 

The  injured  man  smiled  faintly  and  motioned  the 
attendant  to  lift  him  higher  in  his  chair. 

"You  know  how  we  escaped,"  he  continued.  "It 
was  Barstow  who  knelt  in  the  candle-drippings  and 
gave  the  clew  to  the  blue  threads,  but  neither  of  us 
knew  we  had  left  any  trace  until  we  heard  what  the 
police  had  discovered.  Then  I  got  panic-stricken." 

"How  did  you  escape  from  the  veranda  roof?" 
the  Judge  inquired.  "  Did  you  pass  through  the  win- 
dow?" 

The  witness  glanced  at  the  Bench  and  smiled. 

"No,  sir,"  he  answered.  "The  foreman  gave  the 
3<>7 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

clew  to  that.  We  swung  down  from  the  veranda 
roof  on  a  shutter  of  one  of  the  kitchen  windows,  just 
as  Mr.  Lambert  suggested." 

A  ripple  of  applause  started  in  the  audience,  but  the 
Judge's  gavel  quickly  suppressed  it. 

"Did  I  understand  you  to  say  you  became  panic- 
stricken  after  the  discovery  of  the  blue  threads  from 
Mr.  Barstow's  trousers?"  the  prosecutor  continued, 
quietly. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Hunt  responded.  "I  wanted  Barstow 
to  get  out  of  the  country,  and  when  he  wouldn't  hear 
of  that  I  threatened  to  leave  him.  He  soon  cured 
me  of  any  such  notion,  however,  and  when  I  was 
sufficiently  cowed  he  told  me  his  plan.  He  was  en- 
gaged to  Miss  Emory,  he  said,  and  she  had  promised 
to  say  nothing  about  having  seen  me  in  the  house — 
and  she  stuck  to  her  promise,  all  right,"  he  added, 
warmly. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  plotted  to  shield  yourself 
and  Barstow  by  casting  suspicion  on  Miss  Emory?" 
demanded  the  Judge,  disgustedly. 

"No,  indeed,  sir,"  protested  the  witness.  "I 
never  dreamed  she  would  be  suspected  until  it  was 
too  late,  and  then  Barstow  argued  that  she  was  hope- 
lessly implicated,  anyway,  and  the  safest  way  for  us 
all  was  to  stick  it  out  and  get  her  acquitted." 

"  Did  you  know  that  he  had  told  her  that  you  were 
the  murderer,  and  that  in  shielding  you  she  was  pro- 
tecting his  dearest  friend?"  interposed  the  prose- 
cutor. 

308 


THE  ACCOMPLICE 

"I  did  not,"  Hunt  asserted.  "I  never  knew  it 
until  Miss  Frayne  brought  me  your  message  saying 
she  was  swearing  my  life  away,"  he  added. 

"You  entered  into  Barstow's  plans  without  any 
particular  fear  of  the  consequences,  did  you  not?" 
suggested  Gilbert. 

"Well,  at  first  it  seemed  as  though  there  was  little 
or  no  risk,"  the  witness  answered,  "but  I  got  panicky 
when  Barstow  told  me  he  had  retained  the  paper 
transferring  Shaw's  securities  to  Miss  Emory  and  had 
had  it  filed.  After  the  trial  was  safely  over  he  was 
going  to  marry  her,  he  declared,  and  then  he'd  make  a 
rich  man  of  me.  I  was  afraid  that  paper  would  ruin 
her,  and  when  it  was  discovered  I  thought  the  game 
was  up.  But  Barstow  assured  me  that  no  harm  could 
come  to  her — that  he  loved  her,  and  would  confess 
rather  than  injure  a  hair  of  her  head.  It  didn't  take 
much  to  persuade  me,  anyway.  I  was  an  accomplice, 
and  Barstow  never  let  me  forget  it.  His  only  fear 
was  that  Miss  Mapes  and  the  housemaid  would  make 
some  damaging  admissions,  and  when  he  finally  got 
them  out  of  the  way  he  thought  all  the  danger  was 
over.  Then  Miss  Mapes  turned  up,  bringing  the  Field 
girl  with  her.  She  was  in  a  towering  rage  because  the 
case  had  proceeded  to  trial,  for  Barstow  had  promised 
to  clear  Miss  Emory  without  a  trial,  if  she  would  leave 
the  State.  We  knew  she  had  destroyed  Miss  Emory's 
skirt  with  the  idea  of  helping  her,  and  Barstow  was 
so  scared  that  she'd  make  some  othei?  fool  break  that 
he  wouldn't  put  her  on  the  stand  even  to  prove  the 

309 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

exchange  of  rooms,  and  he  was  equally  afraid  the 
prosecution  would  get  hold  of  her.  I  called  on  her 
the  night  the  jury  was  impanelled  and  begged  her 
to  go  away,  or  at  least  make  a  clean  breast  of  every- 
thing she  knew,  but  I  never  discovered  what  she  was 
keeping  back  until  Mr.  Corning  told  me  what  she 
blurted  out  about  the  quarrel  between  Shaw  and  Miss 
Emory.  Of  course  that  almost  unhorsed  Barstow, 
and  he  naturally  turned  on  her  to  divert  the  attention 
of  the  jury.  But  Miss  Emory  was  too  loyal  a  friend 
for  that,  and  he  ought  to  have  known  it.  Hadn't 
she  risked  her  life  to  save  him  or  his  friend,  or  some- 
body he  called  his  friend?  Hadn't  she  stood  by 
and—" 

Gilbert  raised  his  hand  and  checked  the  excited 
witness  whose  voice  was  gradually  rising  to  a  shout. 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Hunt,"  he  interposed.  "You 
must  keep  to  facts  and  let  me  ask  questions." 

Hunt  nodded  with  a  grim  smile  and  settled  back  in 
his  chair. 

"Tell  the  jury  how  you  received  the  injuries  from 
which  you  are  now  suffering,"  continued  Gilbert, 
calmly. 

"One  of  our  men,  who  was  keeping  track  of  Miss 
Mapes  and  the  Field  girl  in  Melton  yesterday,  dis- 
covered that  they  wanted  a  carriage  to  get  back  to 
Pollicet,"  the  witness  responded,  "and  this  struck 
Barstow  as  a  good  opportunity  to  get  them  out  of  the 
State.  He  made  me  hire  a  hack,  remove  the  handles 
from  the  doors,  and  disguise  myself  as  a  hackman. 

310 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

Then  I  was  to  meet  the  two  women  at  a  shop  in  town, 
get  them  into  the  carriage,  and  carry  them  over  the 
State  line  and  keep  them  away  until  the  trial  was 
over.  Everything  worked  well  until  some  fellow 
tried  to  stop  the  horses,  thinking  they  were  running 
away,  and  when  I  was  trying  to  dissuade  him  with 
the  butt  of  my  whip  I  was  thrown  from  the  box-seat 
and  fell  on  my  head.  That's  all  I  know  about  it." 

"How  did  you  happen  to  come  here  to  testify  to- 
night?" 

"Well,  this  morning  Miss  Barbara  Frayne — who 
was  with  the  fellow  who  stopped  the  horses  yester- 
day— called  to  find  out  how  I  was,"  the  witness  an- 
swered, "and  she  was  so  kind  and  cheering  I  got 
into  conversation  with  her  and  let  her  see  I  was  in- 
terested in  the  case,  and  she  promised  to  call  at  the 
noon  recess  and  tell  me  how  matters  stood.  Well, 
she  came  and  told  me  what  was  happening,  and  I 
suppose  she  must  have  seen  how  it  worried  me,  for 
she  began  to  ask  questions.  I  fought  her  off  for  a 
while,  but  she  worked  and  pled  with  me  until  I 
owned  up  to  a  whole  lot,  and  she  persuaded  me  to 
let  her  tell  you.  I  suppose  that's  how  Mr.  Corning 
came  to  see  me,  isn't  it  ?  I  tried  to  get  here  earlier, 
but  the  doctor  couldn't  patch  me  up  until  to-night. 
I'm  glad  I  got  here  though.  It  corroborates  Miss 
Emory,  doesn't  it,  and  an  accomplice  needs  to  be 
corroborated— 

The  witness's  voice  died  away  in  a  husky  whisper, 
and  he  sank  back  wearily  in  his  chair.  Gilbert 

3" 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

stooped  and  spoke  to  his  assistant  and  then  gravely 
addressed  the  Court. 

"That  is  all,  your  Honor,"  he  announced. 

The  Judge  leaned  over  his  desk  gazing  earnestly  .at 
Barstow,  and  every  eye  in  the  room  centred  on  the 
lawyer,  who  sat  quietly  watching  the  limp  figure  in 
the  witness-chair. 

"Does  the  defence  wish  to  cross-examine?"  he 
inquired,  gravely. 

Barstow  rose  and  faced  the  Court  with  perfect 
self-possession. 

"The  defence  does  not  wish  to  cross-examine,"  he 
retorted.  "  But  the  uncontradicted  testimony  of  this 
witness  demands  the  instant  discharge  of  the  de- 
fendant, and  I  renew  my  request  that  the  jury  be 
forthwith  instructed  to  acquit." 

The  man's  tone  and  manner  were  as  rough  and  ag- 
gressive as  they  had  been  at  the  opening  of  the  trial. 
To  all  outward  appearances  the  testimony  had  no 
interest  for  him  save  that  it  was  favorable  to  his 
client. 

"  I  think  it  my  duty  to  join  in  the  defendant's  re- 
quest, and  I  therefore  move  that  the  jury  be  instruct- 
ed to  acquit  the  defendant  at  the  Bar." 

A  burst  of  applause  followed  Gilbert's  solemn  an- 
nouncement, and  the  Judge's  gavel  was  powerless 
to  suppress  the  tumult  until  Barstow  rose  and  held 
up  his  hand. 

"I  withdraw  my  suggestion,  and  request  the  Court 
to  deny  the  prosecutor's!"  he  exclaimed,  as  soon  as 

312 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

he  could  be  heard.  "This  defendant  is  entitled  to 
the  only  reparation  the  State  can  make  her  under  the 
circumstances,  which  is  an  uninstructed  verdict  of 
not  guilty  at  the  hands  of  her  peers.  I  therefore 
demand,  not  as  a  matter  of  favor,  but  as  a  matter  of 
right,  that  her  case  be  submitted  to  the  jury  with  no 
directions  from  the  Court,  save  to  do  full  justice." 

I  do  not  like  to  think  I  was  the  only  person  in  the 
room  who  understood  the  dignity  of  this  appeal,  but 
I  know  I  felt  like  cheering  it  until  Bayne  whispered 
that  he  guessed  Barstow  must  have  heard  the  story 
of  the  Montana  jury,  but  even  that  cynical  suggestion 
did  not  destroy  my  appreciation  of  the  man's  spirit. 
He  had  been  a  brute  and  a  blackguard,  but  he  was 
carrying  the  matter  off  with  a  high  hand  like  a  gen- 
tleman, and  I  paid  mental  tribute  to  his  attitude. 

"The  jury  will  retire  to  consider  their  verdict," 
announced  the  Judge. 

My  associates  rose,  but  before  they  could  leave  the 
box  I  held  them  in  whispered  consultation  for  a  mo- 
ment and  we  quietly  resumed  our  seats. 

Then  Judge  Dudley  nodded  to  the  clerk,  who  im- 
mediately rose  and  faced  us. 

"Gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he  began,  "have  you 
agreed  upon  a  verdict?" 

"We  have,"  I  answered,  rising  as  I  spoke. 

"How  say  you,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he  con- 
tinued. "Do  you  find  the  prisoner  guilty  or  not 
guilty  of  the  offence  as  charged?" 

"Not  guilty,"  I  responded,  but  before  I  had  com- 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

pleted  the  words  they  were  drowned  in  a  thunderous 
burst  of  cheering,  and  immediately  all  was  wild  con- 
fusion. Men  leaped  on  the  benches  and  howled  like 
maniacs,  women  wept,  and  enthusiasts  fought  to 
clasp  the  defendant's  hand,  while  the  Judge  pounded 
his  desk  and  attendants  rushed  about  endeavoring  to 
suppress  the  demonstration.  We  were  still  standing 
in  our  places  watching  this  scene  of  frenzied  joy 
when  we  heard  ourselves  addressed  in  even,  earnest 
tones. 

"Mr.  Foreman  and  Gentlemen  of  the  Jury,  I  thank 
you  on  behalf  of  my  client  and  on  my  own  behalf  for 
the  justice  of  this  verdict  at  your  hands." 

Barstow  stood  close  to  the  jury-rail  as  he  uttered 
the  words,  and  as  we  stared  at  him  in  open-mouthed 
amazement  a  sheriff's  officer  approached  and  whis- 
pered something  in  his  ear. 

"  Certainly,"  we  heard  him  answer.  "  Wait  till  I've 
had  a  chance  to  congratulate  my  client  and  I'll  be  at 
your  service." 

He  moved  away  as  he  spoke,  and  as  my  eyes  fol- 
lowed him  across  the  room  I  saw  Barbara  Frayne 
greet  Gilbert  with  out-stretched  hands,  and  they  were 
still  standing  together  gazing  into  each  other's  eyes 
as  the  crowd  surged  around  them  and  hid  them  from 
my  view. 


XXXI 

I  SUPPOSE  it  was  somewhat  presumptuous  for  an 
1  unknown  bachelor  and  recluse  like  myself  to  think 
of  giving  a  dance  at  "  The  Hermitage,"  but  Barbara 
Frayne's  suggestion  to  that  effect  was  the  first  thing 
I  thought  of  after  I  left  the  court -room,  and  I 
stopped  at  Pollicet  on  my  way  from  Melton  the 
next  morning  and  reminded  her  of  her  promise  to 
act  as  the  Committee  of  Arrangements.  Her  en- 
thusiastic response  settled  the  matter,  and  before  the 
day  was  over  I  was  actively  engaged  in  fulfilling  her 
preliminary  orders.  In  fact,  for  the  next  few  weeks  I 
thought  of  little  else,  and  the  hours  I  passed  in  the 
company  of  my  Committee  working  up  the  details  of 
the  affair  were  the  happiest  I  had  ever  known.  At 
first  I  had  doubted  the  wisdom  of  the  venture  and 
was  prepared  to  abandon  it  on  very  little  provocation, 
but  all  my  misgivings  vanished  under  her  inspiration 
and  before  long  the  result  was  an  assured  success. 
Certainly  no  festivity  was  ever  conceived  in  a  spirit 
of  greater  gayety  and  good-comradeship  than  my 
"coming-out  party,"  but  I  did  not  realize  how  eager- 
ly I-liad  looked  forward  to  it  until  the  day  arrived. 
Perhaps  it  was  unreasonable  to  expect  any  occasion 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

to  fulfil  the  promise  of  such  joyous  planning,  but  it 
must  be  admitted  that  the  long-looked-for  evening 
was  a  bitter  disappointment  when  it  came. 

In  the  first  place  the  Fraynes  did  not  appear  until 
the  dance  was  in  full  swing,  and  in  the  second  place 
I  saw  nothing  of  Miss  Barbara  after  she  arrived.  In- 
deed, I  had  scarcely  welcomed  her  when  a  beardless 
youth  whisked  her  away,  and  I  merely  caught  fleeting 
glimpses  of  her  afterwards  as  she  glided  across  the 
hall  or  library  with  one  or  another  of  her  numerous 
partners.  I  had  counted  on  having  the  first  dance 
with  her,  but  I  solaced  myself  with  the  thought  of  the 
cotillon  which  was  to  follow  the  supper,  and  for  a 
time  my  duties  as  host  prevented  me  from  realizing 
how  little  the  evening  was  fulfilling  my  expectations. 

At  supper  I  manoeuvred  to  place  Miss  Barbara  at 
my  table,  but  again  I  was  disappointed,  and  when  I 
found  myself  stranded  with  three  hungry  chaperones 
I  began  to  grow  disgusted  with  the  whole  affair.  I 
shall  never  forget  the  appetites  of  those  women.  At 
first  it  was  amusing  to  watch  their  enjoyment  of  the 
refreshments,  but  as  time  wore  on  and  the  dining- 
room  began  to  thin,  it  ceased  to  be  a  joke,  and  I  grew 
restless,  impatient,  and  discouraged.  At  last,  in 
sheer  despair  that  they  would  ever  rise  from  the  table, 
I  excused  myself  and  hurried  to  the  library,  but  I  had 
no  sooner  reached  it  than  I  wished  myself  back  again. 
The  cotillon  had  already  begun,  and  Barbara  Frayne 
and  Deake  Gilbert  were  paired  as  partners. 

For  a  moment  I  stood  in  the  crowded  doorway 
316 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

watching  the  merry  throng  of  dancers,  and  then 
sought  my  den  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  sitting 
down  in  the  curtained  bay-window  gazed  out  on  the 
wintry  landscape.  It  had  been  aggravating  enough 
to  see  the  girl  for  whom  the  dance  was  given  handed 
from  one  callow  youth  to  another,  but  to  stay  and 
watch  Gilbert  monopolize  her  for  the  cotillon  was 
more  than  I  could  tolerate. 

I  had  had  more  than  one  encounter  with  the  prose- 
cutor at  "Heathercote,"  but  until  he  actually  sup- 
planted me  with  Miss  Barbara  under  my  own  roof  I 
never  understood  his  attitude  towards  me.  He  had 
always  been  friendly  and  good-natured,  but  there  was 
something  in  his  easy  self-possession  which  jarred 
me,  and  without  knowing  why,  I  could  not  respond 
to  his  cordiality.  The  moment  I  saw  him  sitting 
beside  Barbara  Frayne,  however,  I  knew  the  reason 
of  my  instinctive  resentment.  He  was  a  generous 
rival — a  victor  who  could  afford  to  be  magnanimous 
and  kindly — an  accepted  lover  who  could  indulge 
in  a  noble  sort  of  compassion  for  a  late  competitor. 
A  suspicion  of  this  had  more  than  once  crossed  my 
mind,  and  why  I  had  not  understood  it  earlier  was 
utterly  beyond  my  comprehension.  I  had  certainly 
received  enough  warning  to  put  a  far  duller  man 
upon  his  guard,  but  apparently  it  was  decreed  that 
my  eyes  should  not  be  opened  until  I  had  actually 
given  a  dance  in  honor  of  the  happy  pair. 

The  situation  was  ludicrous,  but  it  might  easily 
have  become  humiliating  if  any  one  had  discovered 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

my  feelings,  and  I  promptly  determined  to  rejoin 
my  guests  and  do  all  I  could  to  make  the  evening 
worthy  of  its  inspiration.  With  this  thought  I 
turned  quickly  from  the  window,  but  paused  as  I 
caught  the  sound  of  Abel  Coming's  voice. 

"He  wouldn't  have  got  much  more  if  he'd  stood 
trial,"  the  assistant  prosecutor  was  saying  as  he  en- 
tered the  room.  ( 

I  felt  I  could  not  meet  Gilbert's  associate  at  that 
moment,  and  hoping  he  would  soon  retire  I  drew 
back  again  behind  the  curtains. 

"  But  a  ten-year  sentence  is  nothing  under  the  cir- 
cumstances," protested  his  companion,  whom  I  recog- 
nized as  a  fellow  named  Henley. 

"It's  enough  for  Barstow,"  answered  Corning, 
lighting  a  cigarette.  "The  mere  fact  of  conviction 
means  ruin  to  a  lawyer.  He  couldn't  have  been  held 
for  more  than  manslaughter  in  the  first  degree,  and  I 
think  Gilbert  was  right  in  accepting  something  short 
of  that  to  escape  a  long  trial.  They  say  Alice  Emory 
dissuaded  Barstow  from  making  a  fight,  and,  strange 
as  it  may  seem,  she  is  sticking  to  him  through  thick 
and  thin.  Women  are  queer  things!" 

"When  did  he  throw  up  the  sponge?" 

"To-day." 

The  men  smoked  in  silence  for  a  while,  and  I  waited 
impatiently  for  them  to  finish  their  cigarettes. 

"Do  you  believe  the  jury  would  have  convicted 
Alice  Emory  if  she  hadn't  gone  on  the  stand?"  in- 
quired Henley,  after  a  pause. 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

Corning  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You  must  ask  our  host  that  question,"  he  re- 
sponded; "but  even  if  they  had  acquitted  her,  most 
people  would  have  believed  she  was  guilty,  and  the 
matter  would  never  have  been  cleared  up.  Barstow 
pretty  nearly  checkmated  us,  anyway,"  he  added,  re- 
flectively. 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Why  he  almost  succeeded  in  forcing  an  adjourn- 
ment, and  if  Judge  Dudley  hadn't  suspected  some- 
thing he'd  have  let  the  case  go  over  until  the  morn- 
ing, and  by  that  time  Barstow  would  have  closed 
his  client's  mouth  and  got  Hunt  under  his  control 
again.  Great  Scott,  what  a  night  that  was!"  Corn- 
ing went  on,  reminiscently.  "Everything  hung  by  a 
thread,  and  it  was  touch-and-go  all  the  time.  Do 
you  remember  when  Barstow  tried  to  resign  from  the 
case?" 

Henley  nodded. 

"Well,  if  he  had  managed  to  get  out  of  the  court- 
room at  that  crisis  we'd  never  have  seen  him  again, 
and  after  Miss  Emory  had  testified  he  almost  gave  us 
the  slip  again." 

"How?" 

"Well,  you  see,  I  had  been  working  with  Hunt  all 
the  evening,  but  I  hadn't  succeeded  in  getting  enough 
out  of  him  to  give  us  the  clew  we  wanted,  and  though 
Gilbert  kept  sending  me  reports  of  what  was  going 
on  in  the  court-room  it  wasn't  until  Barbara  Frayne 
brought  word  of  the  actual  accusation  against  Hunt 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

that  we  persuaded  him  to  go  to  court,  and  as  it  was 
we  arrived  only  just  in  the  nick  of  time.  Another 
five  minutes  and  Barstow  would  have  forced  an  ad- 
journment and  made  good  his  escape.  By  Jove,  it 
makes  me  pant  to  think  of  it!" 

The  speaker  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief. 

"I  don't  wonder,"  responded  his  companion.  "It 
must  have  been  exciting.  Didn't  Gilbert  suspect  any- 
thing until  the  foreman  began  to  question  Miss 
Mapes?" 

"  Not  even  then,"  Corning  asserted.  "  But  if  Lam- 
bert hadn't  suspected  the  housekeeper  we  would 
never  have  discovered  anything  at  all,  for  it  was  Bar- 
stow's  attack  on  her  testimony  which  drove  Miss 
Emory  to  the  stand." 

"I  don't  believe  the  jury  would  have  convicted  her 
anyway,"  asserted  Henley. 

"Your  guess  is  as  good  as  the  next  man's  on  that 
point,"  answered  Corning,  "but  I  know  Gilbert 
thought  he'd  won  the  case  when  the  Court  adjourned 
for  supper." 

"  Well,  if  he  had,  he  wouldn't  be  where  he  is  now," 
laughed  Henley. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  inquired  Corning. 

"You  know  whom  he's  dancing  with,  don't  you?" 
inquired  his  companion.  "If  he'd  won  the  Emory 
case  he'd  have  lost  a  far  more  important  suit,  I'm 
thinking." 

"You're  dreaming,"  retorted  Corning,  testily. 

"Think  so?"  drawled  the  other.  "Well,  there  are 
320 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

some  who'd  like  to  be  wakened  if  a  certain  engage- 
ment is  a  dream." 

"Nonsense!"  protested  Corning.  "Don't  go  bel- 
lowing that  about  the  house." 

"Bellowing  it?"  repeated  Henley.  "There's  no 
need  to.  Everybody  knows  it.  But  he's  entitled 
to  play  it's  a  secret  if  he  wants  to,  I  suppose." 

"I  suppose  so,  too,"  muttered  Corning,  rising,  and 
throwing  his  cigarette  in  the  fire.  "Let's  go  back 
and  steal  another  dance." 

I  remained  staring  at  the  rug  at  my  feet  for  some 
moments  after  the  men  departed.  Apparently  the 
secret  was  known  to  everybody  but  me.  Doubtless 
Miss  Frayne  had  been  engaged  to  Gilbert  when  I  first 
met  her,  and  she  had  merely  used  me  in  the  hope  of 
securing  favor  for  her  friend.  But  nothing  could  ex- 
cuse her  subsequent  behavior,  and  I  flushed  angrily 
at  the  thought  of  the  spectacle  I  must  have  presented. 
How  she  must  have  smiled;  how  they  both  must 
have  been  amused  at  my  enthusiastic  interest  in  this 
dance!  Well,  I  would  join  in  the  joke  and  carry  it 
off  with  spirit.  If  one  had  to  be  a  jackass,  the 
laughing  kind  was  much  to  be  preferred. 

I  parted  the  curtains  and  was  about  to  step  out 
when  I  saw  a  girl  standing  near  the  divan  at  the  other 
side  of  the  room.  She  was  stooping  as  though  looking 
for  something  on  the  floor,  and  as  her  back  was 
turned  towards  me  I  shook  the  curtain-rings  to  warn 
her  of  my  presence.  Instantly  she  whirled  about 
and  sat  down  on  the  divan,  gathering  her  feet  be- 

321 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

neath  her,  and  to  my  astonishment  I  found  myself 
face  to  face  with  Barbara  Frayne. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?"  she  exclaimed,  with  a  glad 
laugh  of  relief.  "  I  didn't  know  any  one  was  in  here. 
Forgive  me  for  intruding." 

"Pardon  me  for  surprising  you,"  I  responded, 
lightly. 

"  Is  this  the  hermit's  Holy  of  Holies  ?"  she  inquired. 

"No — only  his  retreat,"  I  answered. 

"But  why  have  you  retreated?"  she  demanded. 
"Don't  you  dare  face  the  music?  Come,  sit  down 
and  confess!" 

She  motioned  to  the  divan,  and  as  I  moved  forward 
to  accept  the  invitation  my  feet  struck  against  some- 
thing on  the  floor,  and  stooping  down  I  picked  up  a 
satin  slipper. 

"Hello!"  I  exclaimed,  examining  it.  "Cinderella 
must  have  passed  this  way." 

"She  did,"  laughed  my  companion,  coloring  slight- 
ly. "  She  came  in  here  for  repairs.  Deliver,  please!" 
she  continued,  holding  out  her  hand. 

"Are  you  sure  you're  Cinderella?"  I  inquired. 
"This  slipper  isn't  glass." 

"No,  but  it  lacks  a  buckle  and  I  identify  it." 

"Cinderella  proved  her  property  by  its  fit,"  I  sug- 
gested. 

"Well,  if  I'll  do  that  you  must  prove  yourself 
Prince  Charming,"  she  retorted.  "Is  it  a  bargain?" 
she  added,  laughingly. 

"I'm  afraid  Mr.  Gilbert  would  prosecute  me  for 
322 


THE   ACCOMPLICE 

detaining  you  under  false  pretences  if  I  attempted 
to  conclude  that  bargain,"  I  answered. 

"Well,  you  do  look  more  like  a  knight  than  a 
Prince,"  she  admitted,  critically,  "and  not  my  knight- 
errant  either,"  she  continued,  disapprovingly,  "but 
he  of  the  rueful  countenance.  What  do  you  mean 
by  hiding  in  your  den  and  compelling  us  to  hunt 
you  up?" 

"Us?"  I  repeated.     "Whom  do  you  mean?" 

"All  those  with  favors  to  bestow." 

"You  have  a  favor  for  me?"  I  inquired,  smilingly. 

"Well,  I  had,"  she  answered,  reproachfully,  "but  I 
gave  it  away  when  I  couldn't  find  you.  If  you're 
very  repentent,  however,  we  might  steal  a  dance 
now." 

"  I'm  afraid  your  partner  wouldn't  think  that  fair," 
I  protested. 

"My  partner?" 

"Mr.  Gilbert,"  I  explained. 

"  Oh,  Deake,"  she  answered,  lightly.  "  By-the-way, 
that  reminds  me.  He  asked  me  to  present  his  apolo- 
gies for  running  off  without  seeing  you,  but  he  had  to 
catch  the  midnight  train,  and  it  would  hardly  do  for 
him  to  be  late  to-morrow — would  it?"  she  added, 
laughingly. 

"  If  he'd  stayed  until  the  end  of  this  dance,"  I  re- 
sponded, "he'd  have  been  up  in  time  for  the  earliest 
morning  train,  and — " 

"But  his  wedding  is  at  noon." 

I  stared  at  the  girl  in  amazement. 
323 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"Don't  you  know  he's  to  be  married  in  Philadel- 
phia to-morrow?"  she  exclaimed.  "Well,  I  know  he 
intended  to  tell  you  to-night,"  she  went  on,  "al- 
though he  didn't  want  it  generally  known,  be- 
cause— " 

"I  thought  he  was  dancing  the  cotillon  with  you," 
I  interrupted. 

"No,  indeed,"  Miss  Barbara  answered.  "I  didn't 
have  any  partner  so  he  offered  to  keep  me  company 
for  a  while." 

"You  didn't  have  any  partner?"  I  repeated,  ac- 
cusingly. 

"Well,  I  thought  I  had,"  she  answered,  "but  he 
forgot — " 

"He  forgot?" 

"Yes.     Now  confess,  didn't  you?" 

"Indeed,  I  did  not,"  I  asserted.  "But  I  tried  to 
forget  when  I  saw  Mr.  Gilbert  had  taken  my  place." 

"Now,  for  an  intelligent  juror  that  was  a  very 
stupid  proceeding,"  she  asserted,  "to  say  nothing  of 
its  injustice  to  me." 

"If  I  have  been  unjust  I  have  been  punished  for 
it,"  I  protested.  "And  my  coming-out  party  has 
been  almost  spoiled.  Won't  you  save  it  by  giving 
me  the  remainder  of  the  dance?" 

"It  was  my  fault!"  she  exclaimed,  impulsively. 
"Come!" 

She  started  up  from  the  divan  as  she  spoke,  but 
drew  back  laughingly. 

"My  slipper,  please,"  she  demanded. 
324 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"I  must  have  proof  of  its  ownership,"  I  answered, 
warningly. 

"I  accept  the  test,"  she  responded. 

I  stooped  down,  and  as  I  fitted  the  slipper  on  her 
foot  I  glanced  up  at  her. 

"Mademoiselle  Cinderella,"  I  began,  "I  am  the 
bearer  of  a  message.  Will  your  ladyship  deign  to 
hear  it?" 

"A  message?"  she  repeated.     "From  whom?" 

"From  a  comrade,  a  friend — a  petitioner — a 
knight—" 

"Are  you  sure?"  she  interrupted. 

"I  am  in  the  sender's  confidence,  mademoiselle,"  I 
answered.  "He  bids  me  say  he  loves  you,  and  has 
loved  you  since  the  very  hour  he  met  you — that  he 
knows  no  words  to  tell  you  what  lies  hidden  in  his 
heart.  He  merely  asks  that  you  will  look  into  his 
eyes  and  tell  him  what  you  see  there." 

The  girl  gazed  steadily  at  me  for  a  moment  as  I 
ceased  speaking. 

"What  do  you  see  in  mine?"  she  questioned. 

"A  lover,"  I  responded. 

"A  Prince?"  she  queried. 

"No — only  a  beggarly  pleader,"  I  answered. 

"Look  closer,"  she  whispered,  "and  you  will  see 
Prince  Charming." 

"Witch!"  I  murmured,  with  my  arms  about  her. 
"You've  transformed  me!" 

She  shook  her  head  as  she  gazed  up  smilingly  into 
my  face. 

325 


THE    ACCOMPLICE 

"You  had  to  be  the  Prince  if  I  proved  Cinderella," 
she  answered.  "It  was  part  of  the  contract." 

"Is  the  contract  fulfilled  then?"  I  questioned,  and 
looking  down  into  her  eyes  I  saw  my  answer.  "  Then 
know  ye,  Cinderella,"  I  continued,  sagely,  "that  con- 
tracts are  signed — sealed — and — " 

I  would  have  illustrated  all  my  learning  but  the 
words  were  taken  from  my  lips. 

"And  delivered!"  she  interrupted,  softly. 


THE    END 


A     000127048     7 


